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See the old lady who sits by the phone
A hundred years old she lives alone
The postman is coming up to her door
He's brought her a telegram - She doesn't want any more
She closes her eyes to hold back the tears
Memories flood in and wash back the years
Fifty years earlier to nineteen fifteen
When the nightmare of war shattered her dreams
She had three sons Evan, Dilwyn and Wyn
Wyn was the youngest with the disarming grin
Evan the oldest Dilwyn inbetween
They answered the call back in nineteen fourteen
She read of the battles with fear mixed with pride
Prayed to God they'd come back alive
Telegrams started coming to some her friends
About boys in the village she'd not see again
On the day the postman came up to her door
She knew one of her boys would not be back from the war
She thought of Evan, then Dilwyn, then Wyn
Thought of his smile said "Oh God, not him"
The postman looked down into her sad eyes
It was always like this when someone had died
With faltering voice she said give it to me
But instead of one telegram, he gave her three
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