The Old Soldier

He didn’t have long, his body said so

As he turned the dial on his old radio

News of a war in faraway lands

The memories came back,

He started wringing his hands

-

He remembered it all, this killing game

The leaders have changed, but the price is the same

Young fresh faces marching to war

His sigh was deep, he’d seen it before

-

He cast a weary eye, on a well worn path

Today’s victory is tomorrow’s cenotaph

The sounds of war chilled him to the bone

He was one of the few who had made it home

-

They’d all get together every November

A wreath of poppies, they would always remember

There once was many, but now so few

His brothers in arms, only they really knew

-

His wife had passed, his children had flown

It was eight years now in this nursing home

Good friends he’d made, many had passed

He knew deep down that this day was his last

-

The final sleep, he held no fear

He would meet them again, all he held dear

Uniform on, medals on his chest

He lay on his bed for his final rest

-

The radio played her favourite song

His eyes grew heavy, it wouldn’t be long

The years well spent, sleep peacefully came

His wife was there, she was calling his name.