He wakes to see the sun rise, the wind upon his face,
He sees the morning traffic, how well he knows this place.
An enviable life he leads, happy with his lot,
As he sits sunning in the park, he knows that some will not.

Always seeing new places, the town is his to choose,
Not issue lace ups anymore, just tired but comfy shoes.
He watches people rush by, so busy doing “stuff”.
He never dreamed after serving the crown, he’d be sleeping rough.

Once a proud and reliable infantryman, so keen to follow orders,
Securing lines of aid to help, keeping watch on so many borders.
Fifteen years he served, through Northern Ireland and Desert Storm,
Not eating for a day or two just seemed the accepted norm.

Now he’s fighting a different war, no visible enemy seen,
No longer dressed in combats, he no longer serves the Queen.
His foe is now the cold and rain that “put him under fire”
His trousers from a charity shop, held up with string and wire.

He wonders was it all worth it, those days he signed on for,
Fifteen years he spent, loosing friends to war.
Now classed as one of the “homeless”, his bed is oft the floor,
Looks of disgust he now sees, no longer of pride and awe.

Your country will look after you, they said, and that’s for real
However has it come to this, this never was the deal.
Feels Isolated in a busy place, but he is not alone,
There’s hundreds, no thousands of soldiers out there, who live without a home.

Still he can’t moan, because he wakes to another pleasant morn,
For many people left out there, they’ve seen their final dawn.
He sometimes sees the soldiers, marching down “The Mall”,
But his survival is the important thing, “can you spare some change pal”

The cough he’s had for a month now, just doesn’t want to go,
It leaves him feeling very tired, and sometimes very low.
It burns deep within his chest, no medicine can cure,
He laughs, and coughs, as he tells a mate, “ it’ll be the end of me for sure”

An August morning breaks, across London’s Regents park,
But for one ex soldier on a bench, he still sleeps in the dark.
Remembered by few, who followed the same path,
A new unknown soldier, will get poppies at the cenotaph