(Mike Sparks)

Thirteen florins on the bar
Their voices echo from afar
No one ever said we'd change our golden fields for red
When we each left a florin on the bar

The poppies have been laid
The sermons have been made
The bold November sun it sinks afar
And we've bent our heads in prayer
For those we buried there
Who left these thirteen florins on the bar

We'd sung the harvest hymn
The nights were drawing in
We could take a week or two help win the war
And every last man Jack
For a drink when he got back
Left a silver florin on the bar

No one thought about the blood
Or the endless seas of mud
Or the sights and sounds that would minds and memories scar
For when the fighting it was done
And victory had been won
It cost these thirteen florins on the bar

Now the decades have rolled past
Of those who went well I'm the last
Their faces through a haze of years are marred
If we'd known then what I know now
We'd have stayed to speed the plough
Instead here's thirteen florins on the bar

The poppies have been laid
The sermons have been made
The bold November sun it sinks afar
And we've bent our heads in prayer
For those we buried there
Who left these thirteen florins on the bar

© 1999 Mike Sparks

This song appears on the CD 'Going Round Again'