He wore a green beret
The crown of a king
And a dirty old raincoat
The green mantle of spring
Dined in the soup kitchens
That fed him on grease
And drank from glass bottles
To help him find peace.

He sang the old war songs
That lived in his head
And marched in the parks where
A bench was his bed
He screamed and was troubled
Distraught as it seems
With bombings & gunfire
That coloured his dreams

Often napping in doorways
Or looking for fags
His worldly possessions
In his carrier bags
He felt no disgrace
At the shame of it all
He lived for the memories
Of his rise and his fall

Private William James Kennedy
At Ease





© 2008 Jan O