On the corner, a man sits rattling a tin,
Body under tattered clothes, much too thin,
He doesn’t take drugs, smoke or drink,
It’s hunger that addles his brain, so he can’t think.
People pass by, ignore him, consider he’s already lost,
To help even a little, would be too much of a personal cost,
Like a piece of trash, to be blown away by the wind,
Obviously, he’s there because he’s sinned,
Lived a past life, that was obviously bad,
But, the truth is far from that and very sad.
He watches them pass, through glazed eyes that don’t see,
Yet, he was one of the many, that fought to keep his country free,
A proud soldier, a fighting man,
Reduced now to sitting, rattling a can,
The government and the people don’t need him now,
They try to ignore him, in case he contaminates them somehow.
What a short memory people have, how soon they forget,
But, they will expect him to fight again, when he’s needed next,
They will expect him to leave his job, family, social ties,
Defend our land against our enemies, angered by politicians lies,
If necessary expect him to pay the ultimate price,
And for us again, selflessly pay our debt by sacrifice.
Even now, he doesn’t claim benefit, he’s much too proud,
This alone puts him still head and shoulders above the crowd,
For though he needs a little cash,
He’s far from ever being trash,
You see…..Money has never been his asking price,
Just a little thank you occasionally, would suffice.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2010
About this poem:Whatever your politics.....whatever the country....it's always the same...sadly....Andrew....xxx