The Corner Shop 1919 the Great War

Walking into a small shop a little bell rang loudly as the door was opened wide, In the back shop there was shuffling a cough some wheezing coming from inside, A young man came over to the counter leaning heavily on a stout walking stick, His eyes were so bright and sunk deep into his scull his voice slow and thick, He tried to smile his breath rasped and rattled he stopped and turned his head, On his bright clean waistcoat he wore the Mons medal it's lucky he is not dead, Understanding what was wrong he'd been a victim of mustard gas in the Great War, Pretending not to notice I asked for some snuff he turned and coughed some more, A child ran in and bought a pennyworth of sweets she popped them into his bag, The mans wife took the penny and put in the till, she looked so tired and sad, Another fit of coughing seized him suddenly he waved his hand and walked away, Back to his rear room his wife looked with tears she didn't know what to say.