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Poem

An army brat, a pain indeed,
never destined to succeed,
from place to place,
from camp to camp,
with soldier family I did tramp.

Two years at each, and every school,
how could I know the golden rule,
that only those with silver spoon
should try to reach up for the moon.

Flung from class to class to learn
that army brats were last in turn
when teachers chose just who to teach
mere passers by were out of reach.

In moving on from town to town.
free from the things that tie one down,
I collected all the scraps they threw
and kept them in my knowledge stew.

For mix and match was right for me,
I reveled in variety,
although they only shared a bit,
I grabbed the lot, and made it fit.

And so with different tidbits fed
and patchwork learning in my head,
I used my mind to make them whole
and thus came owner of my soul.

Each single thought that I now bear
arises from near everywhere,
for none have been my corner stone
with constant change, one stands alone.

Sometimes I think that I would be
a very, very different me
if I had had a stable home
and not by life was forced to roam.

But I’m the master of my mind
and not a replica of kind,
I am myself for all to see,
there is no other just like me.

An army brat, a soldiers child.
A spirit born to wander wild.
A mongrel of the forces kind.
I now reside within my mind.

Ivor G Davies

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