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The Playwrights Forum > The Art & Craft of Writing > Poet's Corner : Critique my Poem > Little Tin Solider

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BrianRobertNeal
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Joined: Sat Sep 23rd, 2006
Location: Bishop's Stortford, United Kingdom
Posts: 84
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LITTLE TIN SOLDIER



 

“My little army boy
Is coming home from B.F.P.O.
I've a bunch of purple flowers
To decorate a mammy's hero.”

*****************

The communication said quite simply that,

“It is our tragic duty to have to inform you

that yesterday, your son was killed in action.”

The rest of the words were lost in my tears.

He was dead what else did I need to know.

 

*****************

“Mourning in the aerodrome,
The weather warmer, he is colder.
Four men in uniform
To carry home my little soldier.

 

*****************

They sent a car to take me to

the Chapel of rest  that he now lay in.

My senses were frozen and they registered nothing

 till I was stood by the open coffin.

 

******************

"What could he do?
Should have been a rock star."
But he didn't have the money for a guitar.

 
"What could he do?
Should have been a politician."
But he never had a proper education.


"What could he do?
Should have been a father."
But he never even made it to his twenties.”

 

**************************

He’d always wanted to be a Soldier,

nothing else had interested him.

He’d joined up at sixteen and

had been in his third year.

He looked so small and helpless,

I wanted to suckle him.

 

**************************


What a waste --
Army dreamers.
Ooh, what a waste of
Army dreamers.

 

***************

He had been knifed to death by

an injured enemy he had offered water to.

I was told that he would not have felt a thing.

Death would have been instantaneous;

the man had obviously been a trained assassin.

 

****************
Tears o'er a tin box.
Oh, Jesus Christ, he wasn't to know,
Like a chicken with a fox,
He couldn't win the war with ego.

 

*****************

They were going to give him a posthumous award;

I’m not sure which, cos I wasn’t listening.

I asked them to take me home,  for I’d things to do,

like clear his room and organise his funeral,

he’d given them his soul but they weren’t having his body.

*****************


Give the kid the pick of pips,
And give him all your stripes and ribbons.
Now he's sitting in his hole,
He might as well have buttons and bows.

 

(BFPO-British Forces Posted Overseas.)

 



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