Friday, 17 August 2007

the tramp

The ragged old tramp made his lonely way
Along the country road past the bales of hay
His sole possessions in a threadbare old sack
Slung across his weary back
His scufted shoes had seen better days
His face weather-beaten from sun’s bountiful rays
Thoughts of his youth crossed his mind
Life hadn’t always been so unkind
His winning goal he’d never forget
When his schoolmates cheered as it entered the net
How his sports teacher’s face filled with absolute joy
Well done, well done well done my boy!
How he went for new clothes with his mum on a check
Sporting a shirt much too loose at the neck
And later he thought as he kicked at a ball
Tight shoes are better than no sh oes at all
How holidays were spent at the local park
With a “penarth”of sweets
“and come back before dark”
on light summer nights he thought it was great
playing out every night untill eight
and when at eighteen
he became a recruit
called up for the army wore his first khaki suit
he was marched up and down on the barrack square
then had to sit still while they cut off his hair
then he was drilled and taught how to kill
and after six months he soon had his fill
“good germans are dead ones”
the sergeant declared with a face full of hate
and teeth suitably bared
he looked for his medals and saw he had none
and as for the germans he’d never met one
the army was full of misfits and thugs
who loved to bully the rest of the mugs

before da

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