Classic Poem

Going round the back street.
Through the silent lane,
While the folks at church meet,
Coming home again.
Faded hat and creasy,
Long since it was new.
Tent-fly torn and greasy,
Bluey showing through.
Billy burnt and battered,
Boots all badly burst,
Lace and lace holes shattered,
Trousers at their worst.
Blankets like a riddle,
With a streak of white
All along the middle
When against the light.
Young face lined and sunburnt,
Hair just turning grey,
Many a lesson unlearnt
Since he went away.
But he need not bother
For a bite and sup
And for all the other
Mother'll fix it up.