THE OLD SOLDIER

 

I don’t bitch and moan

About growing old

To me it’s a privilege

One which was denied to so many

My fallen pals

And the countless foe

Those who never left

The bloody field

Or succumbed to their wounds

Never to return

To a sweethearts arms

Or to sit beside the home fire

So I bare the pains of age

With stoicism

And thank all that’s holy

For my long life

And the fruits of longevity

And keep the memory

In my heart for all the fallen youth

Until I re-join them