Colin F. Jones


They are we, make no mistake,
Thoughts so confused are simply fake,
Some like to blame whom they don’t like,
And pedal along on an innocent bike;
I shed no tears for what they’ve done,
Mine beat upon my own true drum,
I had the choice to turn and run,
But I chose to serve an artillery gun.
They paid me well for all my work,
And I earned it all I did not shirk,
As I don’t turn against them now,
Because I’ve grown too old to push the plough.
For once a soldier and now a vet,
I served not one year that I regret.