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We no longer reward the squaddie
Who cracks after giving his nearly all With an early morning date With a firing squad and wall Now we send them home Added to a scrap heap Of other damaged veterans Maintained on the cheap For a squaddie is a squaddie Accepting the risks of his calling The very real possibility Of his ultimately falling His greatest fear Being to survive Damaged But alive When a nation Grateful in times of war Come the peace Doesn't care any more That he did his duty That he didn't shirk From carrying out his Nation's dirtiest of work Except on poppy day Just once a year A communal shedding Of the Crocodile tear No we no longer use a firing squad Which at least was quick and clean Now we kill them with indifference Which is cheap and sordid and demeans Vote for this poem
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