Brown paper bag

by | Aug 25, 2009 | Poetry | 0 comments

Sometimes I wear my medals
Sometimes folk ask me,
What are they for?
I tell them, they nod and sometimes
Put a little extra in my begging bowl.

But I’m ok tonight,
Got my whisky in
My brown paper bag,
Got my brown cardboard box,
It’s what I call home
And I’ve got Kevin’s sleeping bag
To keep me nice and warm,
For poor old Kev
He won’t need it any more,
The booze that did for Kev.

Sometimes, after the whisky
I fall asleep humming that
Old song we used to march to
The British Grenadier.


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