The Veteran

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He wandered alone, through deserted streets.
At night under hedgerows, or on benches he'd sleep,
Wrapped up in newspapers, from head to foot,
Protected by grime, dirt and soot,
It was so long, since he was born.
A Great War survivor then dying forlorn,
A timely reminder this man's deaths knell.
Was the ringing aloud of the old church bell?

 

In 1915 he went through hell,
His mind ripped out by a German shell.
His brothers in arms, around him lay,
Another few thousand, killed that day.
The call went out, to go over the top.
And one by one, they started to drop.
All cut down in the prime of their lives,
Some leaving mothers and some leaving wives.

 

Down those trenches dark and dank
With fetid air, where spirits sank
Those brave Tommie's, with their guns
Someone's brother, somebody's son
Crouching, hiding behind earthen walls,
Wondering where the next shell would fall.
Adrenalin pumping, quaking with fear,
Desperately holding back their tears

 

Then out of the sky, a mighty crash,
With a thunderous bang, and a mighty flash,
A shell explodes but yards away.
Dirt and smoke now shrouded the day.
Out of this melee, staggered one man.
And so this is the story, of this Veteran!
His mind ripped away his body in shock,
Another deathblow and confidence knocked.

 

With all his mates gone, all blown away,
Some even buried where they lay.
With earth moving up, then falling down,
Human remains all scattered around.
Death and destruction was screaming at him,
More men's deaths, on another man's whim,
How could this happen, why should it be?
Was this not borderline, insanity?

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Away he stumbled, where his comrades fell.
Away he did stumble through the jaws of hell.
Until at last he finally fell down
Amongst all the bodies, that lay on the ground
Along came two medics, with stretcher in hand
Reclaiming this soldier, from no man's land
Over pock marked earth all broken and rent.
They bravely carried him, to the hospital tent.

 

But out in the field his comrades aghast,
Were now being attacked, with phosgene gas,
Shells raining down on living and dead,
Machineguns chatter their language of lead.
On a make shift ward the soldier comes to.
All battered and broken all black and blue.
No memories of how he came to be there,
No memories at all so why should he care?

 

Not remembering the terror, nor the pain,
Or the piece of shrapnel, that damaged his brain.
20 years old and his memories all gone,
Through General Kitchener and the Kaiser's Hun,
And so they discharged him, and sent him back home.
To fend for himself and the streets to roam,
No hero’s welcome for this veteran of Ypres,
No home to return to no place to sleep

 

For the rest of his days he wandered alone,
Living a lifetime that was not his own.
Other vets memories when he heard tell,
About their brave exploits at the gates of hell.
Aged 74 he fought his last fight,
Struggling to survive, that cold winters night.
On 11th November, his body they found.
Lying asleep, on the frozen ground.

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