The Forgotten Hero
He rambles, solitary along the streets, His body enervated with aching feet,
He’s spent half his life deserted and alone, Heading for destinations unknown.
His clothes are soiled, rancid and torn, The shoes on his feet are totally worn,
A carrier bag holds his only effects, An outcast, an exile one of societies rejects.
Just a forgotten hero, who done his country proud,
But now he is forgotten, just a beggar in the crowd.
He’s an old man now, going on seventy four, A veteran and hero of the second world war,
The medals on his chest, he will not trade, They’re just a small reminder of the price so many paid.
A heroes welcome he received, in 1945, Now he struggles day by day just to stay alive,
By day he sits there begging, with memories in his head, Of the wounded and the dying and the ones he left for dead.
Just a forgotten hero, begging amongst the crowd,
Huddled in a doorway, a blanket, his only shroud.
The blinds of darkness are pulled upon day, It’s time to find a place to stay,
Headed for the local park, He makes his way through the shadows of dark.
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