The old soldier, rheumy eyed and cold
Sits at attention in his wheelchair
Bemedalled chest heaving gently
Thinks of comrades not there.
Now just bones in cemeteries
Some not even identified
Anonymous bodies collected
From where they died
To be laid in the rows and lines
Of the parade square of the dead.
Names and faces and words
Scroll through his aching head
There is guilt in his memories
Still felt at being a alive,
Wonders what random factor
Selected him to survive.
The bugler sounds Last Post
The notes swirling round and gone
The annual tribute publicly paid
By those who survived to live on.
They toast him in the mess and for
A little while the present and past
Mix in a tableau
With a military cast.
The old soldier relaxes.
The young soldier wheels him away.
Another year lived and past
Since the last Remembrance Day.
Bemedalled chest heaving gently
The old soldier, rheumy eyed and cold
Waits to be returned and refiled
In his home for the near forgotten old.
