The visit

[Ian Adrian Millar]

THE VISIT

Even though he's nearing ninety,
And his hair is white as snow.
Every year he comes to visit,
With the chums he used to know.

It was here they fought together,
And here his chums had died.
It was here he knelt in sorrow,
And here he stood and cried.

But this time there's something different,
Just a stillness on the breeze.
And a young voice gently mingles
With the rustling of the leaves.

And the old man stood in wonder,
As an old man often will.
While the young voice whispered softly,
We're still waiting for you Bill,

Ian Adrian Millar

For those who gave their tomorrows for our todays, lest we forget!

[Keith at Tregenna]

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.