It was cold and dark.
The street gas lamp gleamed
through the fog shrouded streets.
People hurried home, theirs day
work done,not daring to glance at
the huddled form of a man.
The tatters of his coat pulled around him.
One arm missing in the empty sleeve.
He rembered the days of wearing
a red coat fighting the french.
He rembered the shell blast
that mangled his arm.
The leather bite between his teeth
the surgons saw.
Shipped back home and left alone
on the bleak dirty streets of London
he called home.
Nobody cared about the once proud
soldier who carried the flag.
Who was now left alone to beg and steal
on the streets of London town.
© Copyright 2016 Larry 43. All rights reserved.
Poem / Other
Poem / Historical Fiction
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