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The Old Soldier
The picture stared down at the old man
Good times, friends for life
The decomposing body was in its second year now
The dust and webs had cloaked him like a blanket
Giving him comfort that life denied him
Time ago, they would have classed him as a hero, time ago
The black van took him away
Eventually releasing the body for burning
The prayers were brief
His final epitaph came when the council cleared the house
The picture was the last to go in the skip
Glancing at it, the worker remarked to his colleague
Old soldier.
Copyright ©
Paul Bell
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