Comrades

Comrades

The old man thinks of days of youth,
when he was free from pain.
Of times of innocence and truth,
when no-one thought of gain.

When everyday brought sunshine
and when kids played in the street.
When it was fine to say hello
to strangers you might meet.

When a neighbour gave you sixpence
for running to the shop.
And if you stuck your hand out
the bus would always stop.

Today his world is silent.
Each night he’s on his own.
He makes himself a sandwich
and he eats it all alone.

And yes, he thinks of days long gone;
in his mind he travels back,
but he wouldn’t change a day of it,
nor take a different track.

For his gratitude won’t falter
and his memory never fades.
He still remembers those lives lost;
his ever dear, comrades.

About the author

paxna19
99 Up Votes
I'm a retired cartographer. I have written poetry since the age of about 10yrs old. I started to write more prolifically when I started my divorce some years ago. Writing got me through. I have also written a couple of children's books with illustrations as I also paint in watercolours, I paint pets and birds/animals portraits in hot melted wax. I am very excited to hear that I have a book of my poems being published by i2i publishing which I am told, should be ready in January on line from all book shops. It is called On Top Of The Wardrobe.

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