It changed him as father, as a son
the day we went to war, became Allied.
She left behind a daughter, almost one.
He joined up with his mates. The training done
his brothers shook his hands; his mother cried.
It changed him as a father, as a son.
No room for error when she cleaned a gun
– not like the bloke who cocked-up, later died.
She left behind a daughter almost one.
That death’s the first he’d seen. Wanted to run
away. He’d said he was OK. He lied.
It changed him as a father to his son.
She Skyped her partner daily. Knew they’d grown
apart. This new life’s too hard to describe.
She left behind a daughter just turned one.
Survived a six-month tour: they’re coming home
with post-traumatic counselling supplied.
It changed him, as a father, to his son.
She left behind a daughter just turned one.
