30 January 2013
He's lots and lots of stories
No longer can be told,
Left to sit and fester
Gather dust and mould,
Muddle, fuddle, fudge them up
Now warped and all squewhiff,
Changed, repeated, dressed, laid bare
First slow, back to front then quick.
He can no longer tell them
Like he used to do,
Skipping back over again
Like a record scratched right through.
'Nat, he was a soldier
Came from Lurgan, don't you know
And he was stationed everywhere
Come rain or hail or snow.
Regimental Sergeant Major,
Brother's all football men
For local teams, I think it was,
Linfield and the Glens.
An RSM, an RSM
Got on with everyone.'
Medals, coins, photos
From travels one by one.
'Til he scratches his snowy head,
Eyes glossed, lost in time
'Have I told you about aul Uncle Nat?
A great old friend of mine.'
The Blurred Lens • Opuss № I