War poem: 1914
1914, now that was some year:
Started with a smile, but finished with a tear.
Little Burnley won the cup, a little Lancashire town
Beat all the big clubs, didn’t let anybody down.
Even the King came to the match, never been before.
They beat Liverpool 1-0, I think that was the score.
Will it ever happen again? No-one can be sure.
No time for football now, they decide to start a war.
Thousands are called up or signed on, can’t wait to serve the King;
They march away not knowing the horrors war can bring.
“It won’t last long; we’ll be home for Christmas”, that’s what’s being said.
But it takes a lot longer than that to make two million dead.
Yes 1914 was some year, winning the cup was good
But that victory meant nothing for the price our lads paid in blood.
Dedicated to the Accrington Pals.