The happy go lucky faced old man,

war tunes whistling, his way down our street

tapping his stick to their various rhythms

on top of the little wall, that ran alongside of him

where { I know }  he hopes to see

left-over breadcrumbs have been placed.

 

As the clock is about to hurry me away to work,

I suddenly recall some of those whistled tunes,

and, I'm back on Granddad's knee again, staring up

into his age-wrinkled face, as he, is also whistling, but to the wartime somgs,

coming out of his faithful, old Bakelite radio set: Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag,  It's a long way to Tipperary ( and many more of course }

 

I know now, but didn't at the time,  how much each one,

had, and always will have, their D-Day recollective places in his heart

and also continue inspiring their ways into mine.