Old Folks
He leaned upon his walking stick,His body bent by time.
Through milky eyes he watched the world,
This man long past his prime.
But still, within his aged head
Much was seen but much unsaid,
Choosing just to watch instead
Life's never ending rhyme.
He must have been around back then,
He must have seen the war.
He might have played a part therein
And witnessed as it tore
The babe from it's own mother's breast,
The hearts of boys from out their chest.
It claimed this country's very best
In slaughter and in gore.
She trundles down the street alone
With just her shopping bags,
Everything she owns in life
Is either junk or rags.
She mutters to herself all day,
"These bastards better keep away..."
Her face is lined, her hair is grey;
They all think she's a hag
But like us all she had her spring
Before the war broke out.
She lost her only son it seems
In war's unending rout.
Her husband took it out on her.
She turned to meds and then liquour;
Her mind was lost her speech a slur,
Her soul was filled with doubt.
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