Filed

The old soldier, rheumy eyed and cold Sits at attention in his wheelchair Bemedalled chest heaving gently Thinks of comrades not there. Now just bones in cemeteries Some not even identified anonymous bodies collected From where they died To be laid in the rows and lines Of the parade square of the dead. Names and faces and words Scroll through his aching head There is guilt in his memories Still felt at being a alive, Wonders what random factor Selected him to survive. The bugler sounds Last Post The notes swirling round and gone The annual tribute publicly paid By those who survived to live on. They toast him in the mess and for A little while the present and past Mix in a tableau With a military cast. The old soldier relaxes. The young soldier wheels him away. Another year lived and past Since the last Remembrance Day. Bemedalled chest heaving gently The old soldier, rheumy eyed and cold Waits to be returned and refiled In his home for the near forgotten old