Slowly the days seemed, to mount up like a mound
But, each morning I spoke, he never uttered a sound
He would look at me, then eventually turn, right away
Like I was his friend, but I ought not to have stayed

One morning I began to tell him, I thought he was a vet
When, suddenly overhead, there came this roar of a jet
He immediately rose, and dived into a bush with a cringe
Then after it had passed, he slowly peered from it's fringe

In time, we both settled into an agreed fragile truce
No questions from me about war, and he started to loose
Of how he daily walked around, his beloved little town
Nestled in suburbia, in a land all coloured tan brown

I looked forward to seeing him, each cold Anzac morn
Where memories are cherished, and hearts are re torn
Re visiting places of dread, as we both, bowed our heads
In a place where a family's fabric, was torn to shreds

The news came suddenly one day, when the rain did drench
About the body of an old man, found on a parklands bench
The enormity of it all was, I did'nt even know his name
This Government of ours, should shoulder an untold shame

These warriors all, left to live, and die on the streets
Is I think, so unnecessary, and just totally piss weak.

I wonder how many were ex-sevicemen, unable to readjust into civilian life.
And as Ron says, unloved by the country they served.