Nobody there did stop to greet
That old man walking down the street
His old skin hanging at old bones
So proud, so sure, and yet, alone
So sadly that his sun-bleached eyes
Did glint with wet as he passed by
A hero, home from furious winds
And fumes, and paves where ice had thinned
So that his tired old foot might slip
(Although he bared a wondrous grip)
He risked it all, and all for which
To bring to health his poorly bitch
His one companion now was old
And did not like the weather cold
But still, a man alive from war
In all his glory, come - adore!
How did that figure pass unseen
And walk so slowly through the scene?
Where not a busy head would turn
To greet him on his safe return.