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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Sat in his chair, the tv still on He’s not changed the channel for so very long The message on screen says a shut down’s ensuing But press any button to carry on viewing The remote, untouched on the arm of the chair The TV shuts down like there’s nobody there Old Albert is sat with his chin on his chest The room is still cold but at last he’s at rest Time was when milk would build up by the door But nobody delivers milk any more Mail might protrude from the mailbox at night But no bills are due and so no-one will write And as time goes by no-one wonders why Nothing’s been seen of that old army guy Everyone knows that everyone dies But no-one does nothing… until there are flies It falls to a man in a blue paper suit And a copper equipped with a size ten boot To let themselves in and survey the scene Of a house full of flies but otherwise clean Albert, to no-one’s surprise is sat there It’s patently clear that he’s beyond a care A man at the door says if it’s up to you And this house is vacant put me in the queue The cop shuts the door in the intruder’s face And mutters, ‘society, no sense of place’ How does a man die completely alone How can a man be completely unknown Upstairs the blue suited man finds the bed A jacket with medals laid out and he said Not really the job of a pathologist But I think he wants to be buried in this The note that is still held in one withered hand Unfolded and read just as Albert had planned I’m sorry it said that I’ve tarnished your day And you were the one who would find me this way Please be so kind as to think well of me And know I was not always this that you see I fought when the world faced a new tyranny I fought for our freedom and our liberty I fought for my king but from what I can see I fought for a land that would not fight for me I’m happy to go now for I’ve been bereft That, of all my comrades, there’s only me left I go to my God, I won’t fret and won’t cry And I’ll meet my soldier friends up in the sky ** Word was sent out in the national media Searches on Google and on Wikipedia But no wartime comrade was anywhere found To stand and salute or to fire a round But the manager of an East End snooker hall Seeing the news, gave his father a call ** Six pallbearers, great grandsons of men Who Albert had saved with a half empty sten Those men who, once safe, watched him go in for more And who watched him fall, shot, to the shell strewn floor Those wounded who’d watched as he crawled his way back Dragging a man by his rifle strap The pallbearer’s fathers and their fathers too There for a hero that none of them knew There to salute without further ado A stranger whose name each one of them knew Seven the number of uniformed men Who step up to each fire three shots and then The last post plays out over old Albert’s grave Where a stone would soon stand saying… ‘He was the brave’ Written 8 November 2021 Entered in: War Contest Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
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