In the twlight of his life

The dishevelled old man

Spends his day time sitting on pavements

With a plastic cup in his hand

He sleeps on door steps

On piles of cardboards for a bed

 

He wears a shirt frayed at the collar and cuffs

_Patch work mosaic trousers

_Socks darned with multicoloured threads

The soles of his shoes are full of holes

His blazer is repaired with elbow patches

Emblems proudly pinned on the lapel

 

Now hunched backed

He looks at the world through sad eyes

His lips don't let slip his past

He bravely bears his pains

And has no time to grumble

He conducts himself with dignity

 

In another life he had taken the Queen's schilling

To fight for his country's cause

Sent abroad to defeat the enemy

He obeyed orders

Witnessed atrocities

Fought with courage, valour and distinction

 

He returned home a broken man

The Promised Land fit for heroes

In the time old fashioned way

Dumped him on the returning wrecked soldiers

Scrap yard

 

When you next walk past a man sitting

On a cold concrete slab

Holding a plastic cup

Judge him not too harshly