Tell her to make me a cambric shirt

(On the side of a hill in the deep forest green)

(Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground)

Without no seams nor needlework

(Blankets and bedclothes, the child of the mountain)

(Sleeps unaware of a clarion call)

Tell her to find me an acre of land

(On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves)

(Washes the grave with silvery tears)

Between the salt water and the sea strand

(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun)

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather

(War bellows blazing in scarlet battalions)

(Generals order their soldiers to kill)

And gather it all in a bunch of heather

(And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten)