by | Jun 2, 2009 | Poetry | 0 comments

From Camp Bastion you called
When you wished us all well.
And, then, you went back
To that furnace of hell.
‘Out, here, in this s***hole
-of Helmand I sit.
If a plot for me waits ‘n
those lush fields o’ grass
Then, I pray to the Lord
That this madness’ll pass.
I’ll sweat in the desert
I’ll fight, an’ I’ll die.
Though not for some flag
Nor a queen on a throne.
I’ll fight for those lads
Till the day we go home…


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