By his splendid verse he’s still remembered and memories of him still remain
But he might have lived to be an old man and enjoyed a greater fame.
I could never ever fathom how he ever chose to die
In a fight for British glory underneath an alien sky
As his verses were all gentle in them no bloodshed or tears
And his life was taken from him when he should have lived for years.
It’s a tragic loss for Ireland that’s what Lord Dunsany said
When he heard that Francis Ledwidge in a foreign field lay dead
He had lost his life in battle many many miles away
From his home in the ‘Royal County’ where he’d lived for many a day.
He will always be remembered as an Irish Nature poet
And no Irish bard since Ledwidge finer Nature poems have wrote
Seems a shame that his flowering genius was cut off in it’s prime
And that war had took from Mother Ireland her greatest son of rhyme.
He was called ‘Poet of the Blackbird’ the name he’s remembered by
And his songs as fresh as ever and his songs will never die
And every time i hear a blackbird piping in the wind and rain
I recall the songs of Ledwidge the immortal Bard of Slane.