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.
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