Under the arch he used to sit

when I was just a kid,

in the 1920s

I asked him what he did.

“Just selling matches lass” he said

“There’s nothing more for me,

begging for a crust of bread

look here and you will see”.

Around his neck in big black words

he showed me how to read,

“ex-serviceman” he read aloud

“I might as well be dead”.

He told me how he lost his legs

before I was even born,

how people passed him on their way

and treated him with scorn.

“A land fit for heroes,

that’s what they promised me”

Now he sits, just half a man

resting on his knee.