The young man listened in awe to the old soldier
Malt whiskey oiled the heroic deeds of the Grenadier
The same eyes that once looked for the enemy on a bloody battlefield
Now glinted from the log fires embers
Long still pauses
Deep breaths
Shaking hands
A drip of whiskey hit’s the carpet
Oh we were young
So very young
All dead
“Bugger Queen & Country son”
As the Grenadier smashed the whiskey glass into the flames.