A boy was born one summer’s day,
A normal child that loved to play,
Good at heart and soft in spirit,
Loved any game with action in it.
He grew up fast did good at school,
Was bullied once but was no fool,
He stood his ground and others too,
For protecting them was all he knew.
His time at school had come and gone,
No office job did he belong,
He went to find some work in town,
And walked the high street up and down.
He came across the solider store,
And signed up fast to fight the war,
On terrors doorway soon he stood,
He faced his fear for greater good.
A braver soldier never seen,
He did his duty for his queen,
His country blessed the war he fought,
Protecting them or so they thought.
A day before the end of tour,
He learnt the bloody cost of war,
Laid on muddy blooded sands,
18 years old without his hand.
For this young man stood up to fight,
With improvised explosive might,
Lost more than hands there on that day,
Keeping friends Out of harm’s way.
Giro checks now he must sign,
Right there on that dotted line,
Just like the day his Sergeant yelled,
Boy join the army see the world!
Yet this man can’t now write at all,
When sanctions come he feels a fool,
For he wouldn’t need to claim a dime,
If not for signing on a line.
Ross de Freitas, VFP London.