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Poem

They are out selling the poppies
In this run up to Remembrance Day
But they’ve confused Remembrance
With doing things the cheap way.

When I joined the colours I knew
I could be sent off to war
I just didn’t realise that
I wouldn't’ be needed anymore
If I came back bent and broken
With scars deep in my mind
A future looking bleak
And my best years behind.

Oh, you paraded at Wootton Bassett,
Wept your tears for the dead,
And you wore your scarlet poppies
Coloured for past blood shed 
But when my wounds mended
And I could use my artificial leg
I was thrown on the state
Almost like having to beg.

And such treatment is normal
For children partners and wives
Of all those who went to serve
And in duty gave their lives,
Or, worse still, survived
To feel the despair
Of being on the scrap heap
When very few people care.

You call us all heroes
Just once a year,
Dig in your pockets when
Remembrance Day draws near,
And then seem to forget
That we are still alive
And for the rest of the time
We have to fight to survive. 

They have to sell the poppies
For without Charity’s help
This so called grateful nation
Has thrown veterans on the shelf.

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