WILFRID J. HALLIDAY
2nd Lieut., West Yorks
"An Unknown British Soldier'
'TIS just a little wooden cross
In lonely grandeur there
That smiles upon a rugged mound
Of weedy, unattended ground,
For he was no man's care.
A broken bayonet marked the spot
And troops would turn aside,
Till loving hands rough cast the wood
And shaped a cross, emblem of blood,
To tell where he had died.
He died unowned, for none could tell
The silent hero's name:
They saw the bloody wounds he bore,
The shattered limbs, but nothing more,
And knew not whence he came.
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