When taking dog a-walking yesterday

On village green the fine spring morn to share,

A friend me asked, since he would go my way,

If he could join me, company to bear.

Of course, I said the pleasure would be mine,

Our dogs each wagged its tail, her friend to greet

We two old soldiers move our legs in time

Jim Brown said, 'Not too far — my poor old feet.'

Old Jim was not a pleasant sight, I fear

I could but see his future hope was dear.

His eyelids drooped, his skin was buff

His hands both shook, his voice was gruff.

Halfway across the green we reached a seat,

And sat thereon while Jim regained his breath

(For tobacco smoke Jim could not do without,

Though doctors warned him it would cause his death.)

We sat there in the sunshine for a spell,

Before Jim had to light up once again;

He starts to tell me something's on his mind,

But coughing stops him — clearly he's in pain.

At last he treads the fag-end in the bay,

And when his coughing ceases, fakes a smile;

Then pointing to some kids who football play,

He says, 'When I was young, I played a while.'

'You'll not believe it now, my dear old friend,

Before the war I played for Luton Town,

But in an army life you learn to spend

Your meagre pay on fags — it gets you down.'

'Now when I look behind me at those years

When I could hold my head up, play with zest,

Nostalgia fills my heart with bitter tears,

Dread for my future end won't let me rest.'

'What would I now give to turn back the clock,

Be young again with all my life before;

Errors avoid, be steady as a rock,

Temptations put behind me evermore.'

Jim glanced at me, expecting a reply

Though thinking on past years, a silent me,

Reflects on bygone joys, but sorrows fly

Before my tight closed eyes, and clearly see.

Would I endure again those days at school

When each new day filled me with untold dread?

Or, adolescent, think I am a fool

Whose spotty face when meets a girl turns red?

And would I choose again to fight a war,

And watch my comrades fall, their deaths to rue?

Or face the early trials our marriage saw?

And apprehensive, watch our children too?

Long hours to work to keep our family fed,

The endless worry lest the business fail

The accidents I have endured — the dread

Of all the pain along life's hectic trail.

And in retirement, all the aches and pains

That old age brings, perhaps alone to bear.

With death approaching, sense and feeling wanes;

Will those I leave behind me really care?

The road ahead, of promise has much more;

'Tis true I may be punished for my wrongs,

But I will trust in He who for me bore

In His own self, pain which to me belongs.'

I turn to poor old Jim, express my fears

'You're really sure you'd choose to live again

And pass once more along this vale of tears?

And in temptation fall, oft fail, in pain?'

'My poor old Jim, I do not fear my end,

Nor would I wend again life's stormy road

With all its thorns and pitfalls, dear old friend,

When comes the chance, I'll gladly shed my load.'

Poetry and Prose Archives

Len (Snowie) Baynes

08.03.07 Front Page

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