Author Wilfrid Wilson Gibson They gave him a shilling, They gave him a gun, And so he's gone killing The Germans, my son. I dream of that shilling — I dream of that gun — And it's they that are killing The boy who's my son. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4.5 (2 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments