And they came home battered, bruised,some we had to carry, unlike other armies ,we don’t shoot our wounded
We give them fresh water, tend their wounds,, sustenance to mend their soul and nourishment for what ails.
They come back from the front lines at all hours and always with love their bound
Stroud where their love is abounded
To cheers and salutations and our greeters summoned great support
Some of our wounded suffered Covid and death ,the pyres stacked high with wood and carried
Meetings ten ante meridiem and ten post meridiem , everyday of the year
Bloody and ragged, torn and hungry
Stroud where we are proud to serve,
God isn’t afraid to walk freely and His grace loves His steep streets
Mums never hide and Me Dad never shirks a duty nor a pint ,My sister is
quite the sassy one though
on Friday
one pm
reporter
for the
standard-examiner
at s8
interview me
puffy puffery
it is the day before Saturday
one post meridiem (1 p.m.) demolishment
set in time
correspondent of journalist
falls quickly ephemeral, quick
standard and examiner
frolicking on Sections of eight
with a simple dialogue
of puffy puffery
safety unknown