William H.A. Willbond MSM, CD and Jim Cody

THANK YOU JIM, FOR YOUR KIND POEM

A Fine Irish Man who moved South to Aus.
In the UK Army back in a time that was.
You were a soldier when you were young.
You did your time, but it wasn’t much fun.

I’m off to the see the sawbones to fix my knee.
We have good Doctors in this land of the free.
My Dad was really happy when you visited him.
You were his close family, my dear cousin Jim.

When I get my knees fixed we will visit you.
And my friend Tony Pahl we will visit him too.
Perhaps it will happen in a year or two?
Getting both knees fixed I’ll feel true blue.

All those years carrying a heavy pack I spent
Caused the sore knees and the soldier’s lament;
No longer in barracks, the bunker or the tent.
Thank you cousin Jim, you are a real Gent.

Hugs,
Cousin Billy

A SOLDIER’S LAMENT

Glad to hear your knee is being repaired,
After so long the pain will go,
And your body will be renewed once more.
You know old soldiers never die, I wonder why,
It must be something in their genes,
Or in the deeds that they performed in days gone by.
Billy you haven’t done too bad.
Your time with your parents served you well,
You joined the army when a boy,
And did a man’s job shouldering your gun.
In foreign fields you served the flag,
The maple leaf that you loved so well,
And now that you have got pains and aches,
From jumping out of planes, and climbing gates.
In jungle heat and swampy ground,
With your gun held high you made solid ground,
It was all for a good cause, you told yourself,
Peace and security for all mankind.

This I know is true and I tell no lies:
Our leaders send us to war, and they tell us,
That our cause is just and God is on our side.
But those we fight and kill, pray to the same God as we,
So it is true and cannot be denied, that the soldiers fight and die,
And those who survive come home,
Changed over things they saw and things they did,
All in the name of peace and justice.
You were lucky Billy, you took a cause and it served you well.
Helping all the sick and poor, is what you do so well.
To finish this poem, this I say,
All our leaders are created not in Heaven but in hell.
Their brains are forged in the fire of hell,
They send world’s youths to war for glory sake,
And they grind their bones to make into bread.
You know some of this if true,
The politicians clawed your pensions back
And left you poor, while they grew fat.

From Your Cousin Jim