Wednesday, 16 November 2011
On reflection as I cast my mind back
Life in my youth was no bed of roses
In fact one could say we were dirt poor
‘Twas a time in our history, a time of war
When for five years of warfare took its toll..
On the nation, its people, it’s very soul
But was it worth it, as I look around today
I fear this is a nation feeble greedy people
Who care little for the sacrifices others gave...
The cup of kindness is seen as being soft
Hard faced , the stuff you jack, spin on this
Is the norm for this materialistic County
Who gives a TomTit any more about our soldiers?
They and their kids go hungry to keep you safe.....
Rat infested houses from Victorian times
And who gives a Donald Duck about the dead
Coming home in body bags and buried without honour
Yes, on reflection I am glad I was born dirt poor...
And suffered along with millions in those dark days
We found the meaning of many words lacking today
Compassion for others, and comradeship on a scale
That will never be seen in this selfish land of Britain...
‘Tis a sad reflection I bring to these pages my friends
But the human beings of yesteryear would shout out
“Stop, you greedy bastards, think of others for once”