in his prime he was the one
a hero who some looked upon
on the frontline he would wait
never knowing his own fate
fighting for our golden land
for the freedom we demand
risked his life day to day
not for money not for fame
but for the country that he knows
a place he loved a place called home
just for them to turn there backs
yet this old man fought of attacks
now hes living on the streets
no food to eat no where to sleep
sold his medals for a night
in a place with warmth an light
an everyday waits in a line
to cue for soup from someone kind
now this old man is dying slow
as the cold turns into snow
all alone no one to care
how is this condoned as fair
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