He played in the corn fields
with friends in the summer,
fished in the lake
and climbed every tree,
he helped with the harvest
as did his young friends
and he helped with the lambing
in those warm days of spring;
Such were his memories
of youth and of fun,
sun through the tree tops
warm on his face,
haunting new visions
have now taken their place
since he took the Kings shilling
and sailed off to France.

He saw lifeless black eyes
glazed in ashen white faces,
snow that was blood stained
and limbs that were dripping,
he shed stinging tears
for those no longer living
and he searched for the answers
that were never forth coming;
He heard screams from the dying
their lungs gas corrupted,
murmurs and mumblings
under clouds of confusion,
he heard rats in a frenzy
amid men decomposing  
and he searched for the reasons
that no one could give him.

He now bathes in warm sunshine
from a seat in the garden,
blanket hangs loose
where his legs used to be,
he knows not the faces
knows not their names,
he exists in the present
his mind knows not the past;
Not one single visitor
in all of these years,
to the staff he is Harry
the old soldier,the Dear,
they wash him, they shave him
and launder his clothes,
wheel him out in the sunshine
he loves watching the birds.