WE LOVED THE DAYS, WHEN WE WERE YOUNG,
THAT OLD GRANDAD, WOULD CALL,
FOR HE ALWAYS BROUGHT A PEGGIE'S LEG,
OR SOME BULLS EYES, FOR US ALL.

HE WOULD SIT HIMSELF, BESIDE THE FIRE,
AN OLD STORY TO RELATE,
BUT FIRST HE'D LIGHT A WOODBINE,
LIFT THE POKER FROM THE GRATE.

ITS THEN HE TOLD THE STORIES,
WITH THE POKER FOR A GUN,
AS HE RECALLED WITH EAGERNESS,
HIS BATTLES ON THE SOMME.

WE SEEN THE SCARS UPON HIS HANDS,
WHERE BULLETS GRAZED HIS SKIN
AS HE LAUGHED, I WASN'T FAT BOY'S,
IN WAR ITS SAFER TO BE THIN.

AH YES, MY GENTLE GRANDAD,
LONG GONE TO HIS REWARD,
TO ME HE WAS A HERO,
WITH A POKER, GUN, OR SWORD.

AT HEART, HE WAS A MOUNTAIN MAN,
WHO WOULD ALWAYS DO WHATS RIGHT,
AT HIS GRAVE I SAY, GOD BLESS GRANDAD,
YOU WERE BRAVE, TO FIGHT, THE FIGHT.

BEN999