At Boesinghe in Belgium Francis Ledwidge fell
Killed there by an exploding shell
And he did not go home again
To Ireland, County Meath and Slane.

In Belgium the bones of the poet soldier lay
He did not live to grow old and gray
The reaper took him in his prime
And Ireland lost her Prince of rhyme.

Francis Ledwidge had a way with words
He sang of the fields, the woods and birds
And with Nature's great poets he belong
And there is beauty in his song.

His nickname the 'Irish John Clare'
With Nature's great poets he compare
And he was one who died so young
And his best songs had not yet been sung.

He mourned for Elly Vaughey when she died
The flower of his own countryside
The greatest love he ever knew
And to her memory he was true.

A soldier and a man of rhyme
He fell in Belgium in his prime
And in Belgium his bones remain
Far from the fields and woods of Slane.

Francis Duggan

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-soldier-and-a-man-of-rhyme/