Valé Lindsay G.

The empty bed beside me, where each blanket and each sheet
Was folded in the regimental way,
Spoke clearly of a good friend who had left them there, so neat;
They passed the bed inspection every day.

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And we were there for National Service, practising for war,
With army training every waking breath.
But things like this remind us that we don't know what's in store:
We weren't prepared for practising for death.

© Tom Chapman 2008