The Private

The Private

A red hand: she soars and she sings and she flies,

As the red and the white court the blues of the sky.

A soldier is walking - no stumbling - he falls,

Losing his rifle as his arm grasps the wall.

He remembers the chaos from which that he ran,

when the fire and the hate hit his little green van.

Smith's hand was raised as they drove on that mound,

The next time he'd see it, it would be on the ground.

But no sign of Smith, just smoke: remnants of van:

The soldier searched frantically - then the shooting began.

-

His training was good, his spirit was strong,

He zigged and he zagged through the wreckage and long

did he run from the place that had been so cruelly,

plotted to massacre him during his duty.

He cast from his mind the thoughts of his mate,

Then cautiously entered a housing estate.

But the pain became heavy; he winced from the load,

And the deeper he went, the further he slowed

-

He slips from the wall and it marks the brick red.

With a grunt he stands up and he limps on instead

of doing what his body is crying at him for,

To close his his eyes slowly and fall to the floor.

He moves between houses, and darts through small alleys,

Running from demons in camo and ballys.

From off to his front he can hear a procession,

Bites down on his lip, and he shoulders his weapon.

From the rear there's a shout as the bullets begin,

To cough from hard metal and hunt him again.

-

They'd followed the trail of red life that he'd left,

A path that had leaked from his leg and his chest.

He remembers his mum and his dad and his dog,

His brother, his sister - his wife most of all.

He remembers the child they had waited for years

to arrive and in only two weeks would be here.

He runs and he runs 'til he reaches the street,

He enters the commotion and falls from his feet.

The pipes sing loud, the banners fly high,

That red and white flag courts the blue of the sky.

Men in round hats, adorned with a sash,

are marching, with pride, in rebellious mass.

-

The soldier looks up, and gives one last sigh,

Then his soul leaves his body on the Twelfth of July.