He is not amongst the wise though he has grown old and gray
But he has fought in war zones in Countries far away
On the lapel of his coat his war medals he display
When he marches behind the band on war memorial day
his wrinkled neck, face and hands give proof of time's decay
Yet he would love to fight in a war again at least this is what he does say
At the pub on Saturday night when he has a few beers in
But he will not get the call when there is a war to win
Stories of his warring days to his younger mates he does tell
And he did seem to enjoy what to most would be Earthly Hell
And he has aged rather well for one in his ninetieth year of life
A great grandfather many times he has long outlived his wife
He fought in distant Lands when in his life's elan
And though the years have left him old he remains at heart a warring man.
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