Billy Smith

by | Jul 24, 2006 | Poetry | 0 comments

Billy Smith was out of luck
Eighteen years old and sleeping rough
His Dad in prison his Mum a whore
Stealing car radios so he can score
At night he cried himself to sleep
In his cardboard box up a dingy street
Billy Smith woke up today
A dog-end for his breakfast ay?
Sat begging outside the railway station
A youth appeared who was serving his nation
On his head he wore a red beret
He strode down the road in an arrogant way
Billy Smith dispelled his fears
He limped of to the Army careers
Its two years now since he took the pen
And signed his way to Crossmaglen
A snipers bullet shot Billy dead
Straight through the red beret on his head
Now Billy lies back in his hometown
Only this time he is six foot down
To die like this to some a shock
But better than dying in a cardboard box


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