Poem - 80 Years young.

                80 Years young.

I remember a curly haired child

Loved and protected midst a

Loving family of brothers, sisters

Dogs and cats, a wonderful

  Warm world.

When I was five years old

Locust arrived in the millions,

 Flew on my face, in my hair

I ran for cover, while they

Gobbled up every green, living thing.

I still remember, a strapping young man

Going to war as proud as a peacock,

Of his beret and tartan Kilts, Transvaal Scottish,

Aching feet and a heavy gun and months

Of parade ground, they said you’re done.

Kenya, forest green, cloying mud unceasing rains,

Lava rocks, and explosive heat, low bush, dry streams

Flying bullets, machine guns rattle.

Ethiopia another battle.

The stench of death, so sad, yet we won.

The Western desert and Saharan scenes,

The angle of death hovering nearby

No time for tears or even to cry

Your friends amongst the dead or dying

Too busy to even say goodbye.

A wall of broken tanks and twisted guns

Burning trucks under a burning sun

Jerry has broken through, our ammo gone,

Word comes through you are on your own,

A failed escape and you are in the bag.

The wind blew away, years and days,

Autumn leaves drifting to earth

The calendar riffling through many seasons,

Vivid green, multi colors, orange and gold.

          Winter snows bitterly cold.

The children grow as fast as we did,

The wife and I agree, so we move over

To make space for the next generation

It all went so fast she said you’re 80 now

And were still having lots of fun, I said.

By Hillie Feldman  28th August 1999
To my sister Bubbles with love.