Old cars. old men and older memories,
Model T's, 1914 and the war.
Anzacs, Gallipoli oh God the slaughter
They are still there the memories I store.
A tattered photo tells so vividly,
A wedding, a homestead and my six boys.
She is dead, they are gone, I'm alone now,
With my memories of sorrows and joys.
An old diary, it told the lad's story,
Of a young man who ran far from the farm.
To fight for Mother England in battle,
Then to return home with only one arm.
I read he charged the enemy trenches,
Screaming God will protect me from all harm.
His brother's watched his courage in silence,
All he suffered was the loss of one arm.
Today he doesn't much talk about it.
He still remains the same boy from the farm.
And if pushed all he'll say is; "T'was nothing,
All I suffered was the loss of one arm."
The first two verses of this was written around twenty years ago. I found it again today and decided to add to it.
It's not a true story, but it could have been