An Old Man Recalls Wartime
She’s my Daisy, always my daisy
Daisy my derring-do is all for you
She’s not the same as she was in her youth
not quite the same in the mind
but she’s mine. I’m hers.
Seems the way it’s always been.
It was after the war.
All the planes had landed
All the troops disbanded
We headed home once more
The marching, the days and days of marching
They were at an end.
The bleeding, the ceaseless bleeding,
Screaming pain of broken bones.
This was on the mend.
We could ignore what came before.
My Daisy, My darling Daisy
I won’t be long. I’m coming home.
I’m coming home to you.
But when I do, what you mustn’t do
is ask me anymore.
Don’t ask about the war.
Does it hurt? She wants to know.
The wound is open, but it will close.
I dressed it tightly, rewrapped it nightly
with shreds of the clothes that I wore.
I came marching home to you
My Daisy, always my darling Daisy.
My Derring-do is all for you.
It won’t be long. I’m coming home.
I’m coming home to you.
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