Violets from Plug Street Wood,
Sweet,I send you oversea.
It is strange they should be blue,
Blue when his soaked blood was red,
For they grew around his head;
It is strange they should be bule.
Violets from Plug Street Wood
Think what they have meant to me
Life and Hope and Love and You.
And you did not see them grow
Where his mangled body lay,
Hiding horror from the day.
Sweetest,it was better so.
Violets from oversea,
To your dear,far forgetting land;
These I send in memory,
Knowing you will understand.