He was getting old and paunchy, and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the R S L, telling stories of the past,
Of a war that he had fought in, and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his mates; they were heroes, everyone.

And tho' sometimes to his neighbours, his tales become a joke,
All his old mates listened, for they knew of where he spoke.
But we hear his tales no longer, for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a solder died today.

He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an uneventful, and quite ordinary life.
Held a job and raised a family, quitely going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lay in state,
While thousands note their passing, and claim that they were great.
Papers tell their life stories, from back when they were young,
But the passing of a soldier, goes unnoticed and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution, to the welfare of our land.
A man who breaks his promises, and cons his fellow man.
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country, and offers up his life.

A politician's reward, and the style in which he lives,
Are sometimes disproportionate, to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal, and perhaps a pension small.

It's so easy to forget them, for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our country, went to battle but we know.
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom, that our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician, with his ever-shifting stand.
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend his home,
His family and his country, and would even fight alone.

He was just a common soldier, and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us, we may need his type again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part,
Is to clean up all the troubles, that the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honour, while he's around to hear the praise,
Then at least lets pay him homage, at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline, in the paper that would say,
Our country is in morning, for a soldier died today..........

Author unknown

The Soldier stood and faced his God, which must always come to pass.

He hoped his shoes were shining, just as brightly as his brass.   

"Step forward now, you Soldier, how shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek?

To My Church have you been true?"

The Soldier squared his shoulders and said, "No, my Lord, I ain't.

Because those of us who carry guns, can't always be a saint.   

I've had to work most Sundays, and at times my talk was tough.

And sometimes I've been violent, because the world is awfully rough.   

But, I never took a dollar, that wasn't mine to keep...

Though I worked a lot of overtime, when the bills got just too steep.   

And I never passed a cry for help, though at times I shook with fear.

And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears.  

I know I don't deserve a place, among the people here.

They never wanted me around, except to calm their fears.   

If you've a place for me here, Lord, it needn't be so grand.

I never expected or had too much, but if you don't, I'll understand.   

There was a silence all around the throne, where the saints had often trod.

As the Soldier waited quietly, for the judgment of his God.

"Step forward now, you Soldier, you've borne your burdens well.

Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, you've done your time in Hell."  

~Author Unknown~

It's the Soldier, not the reporter , who has given us the freedom of the press.

It's the Soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech.

It's the Soldier, not the politicians , that ensures our right to Life, Freedom and the Pursuit of Happiness.

It's the Soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag.

If you care to offer the smallest token of recognition and appreciation for our Armed Services Men & Women, please pass this on and pray for our men and women who have served and are currently serving our country and pray for those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom !

Now each of us from time to time has gazed upon the sea
To watch the warships pulling out to keep our country free
And most of us have read a book or heard a lofty tale
About the men who sail these ships through wind and rain or hail
But there's a place within each ship that stories never reach
And there's a special breed of man that legends rarely teach

Down below the water line a place they call the “hole”
A hot and burning metal cage that takes a living toll
It houses engines run by fuel that make the screws go round
A place of fire, noise and heat that beat your spirits down
Where diesels roar and giant turbines make a howling scream
These armoured gods without remorse would haunt your every dream

They have no time for rest or sleep nor tolerance for fear
Their honour pays no living thing the tribute of a tear
For there's not much a man could do that these men haven't done
Beneath the deck deep in the hole to make the engines run
And every hour of every day they keep the watch in hell
For if their engines ever fail their ship's a useless shell

So when these ships converge for war upon the angry sea
These men below just grimly smile at what their fate might be
They're locked below like men foredoomed who hear no battle cry
It's well assumed that if they're hit these men will surely die
But every day's a war down there where gauges all read red
For dangers lurk within the hole that threaten life instead

These sweat soaked men fight down below in super heated air
To keep their ship alive and well though few know that they're there
And thus they'll fight for ages on till warships sail no more
Amidst the engines mighty heat amongst their deafening roar
Remember when a ship pulls out to sail upon the sea
The hopeless life of men down there for one of them is me.