He walks slowly down the dark and frozen street.
The only sound is ice and snow cracking beneath his cold tired feet.
He looks up and down every ally, hoping for a warmer place to sleep.
In the great country there is no place that he can call his keep.
If you were to take the time to look close you'd see that he is neither young nor old.
Not so many years ago ago he wore the countries uniform and oh looked so bold.
In combat he used to call down his nations Hell Fire.
While before the Wars he sang in the local church choir.
But today these skills and not even worth a dime.
Still he is to proud to beg or turn to crime.
Deep inside he feels tonight little of the winter cold.
As his mind has slipped back into his Wars so old.
Across the world in jungles and deserts so hot and wet or dry.
Where in his bloody memories he wishes it had been him out there to die.
Why was it the kids so young and still wet behind their ears.
Yet by useless Wars made killers far beyond their years.
Yes when he came home all the people this time said they did their best.
Still at home there are no jobs for him or so many of the rest.
Profits today are made not by a strong young man's back or even skill.
Ship the work overseas where its done for pennies on the hour still.
Bonuses for Banker's will make this Christmas merry.
Their campaign gifts a politician's reelection sure to carry.
So of Winter's Vet nor you or I, are really anyone in powers worry.
At last he sees a soup kitchen run by another Vet and smells sweet hot Curry.
Dedicated to all the Vets of all the Wars and their families that suffer with them.
Often harder at the Yule time of Winter's year. May the Solstice Sun bring us all a better year.
The Druid King
Copy Right December 21, 2011 by George King (Another Vet from forgotten Wars)
