He air blew his nose, then he spat into the gutter,
A wind drowned sound was all that remained of his mutter.
As he saw the human, not dog fouled road,
The humans now asleep in their cosy abode.
Once he was young and full of pride,
When had his own self esteem gone and died?
The thread bare cap on his sparsely  haired head,
Which was the greyer, the hair or the thread?
Snuff stained fingers, snuff speckled clothes,
No need to tell him of a life times woes.
He’d fought in a war with many who were brothers,
Was this the war that would end all others?
Friends he’d lost, some barely grown men,
Did they realize their sacrifice way back then?
Rows and rows of little white stones,
Poppies bloom now over fields of mens bones.
Once restless feet in now rotting boots,
Nothing left of their hair, not even the roots.
Wars go on still, but not for these men,
Was their sacrifice heeded way back then?
Try asking, please! Their Fathers and Mothers,
Who received the word along with many others.
They received the message that everyone fears,
Your son is no more, then came the tears.
Tears of grief, frustration inside,
He had the courage, he marched off with pride.
Was their sacrifice needed way back then?
Wars go on still, “Rest in Peace! Amen!”