When I was a child,
Around thirteen,
I mean.
I had a friend,
Terry Cooke,
He was thin, and wiry,
With a shock of red hair,
Temper to match,
Which scared people.
We joined the Army Cadets
Together,
They taught us to fire rifles,
And other trifles
To build character.
They gave us uniforms,
The best clothes we had,
At the time.
We both hated school
We thought they were fools,
So, some days,
We would steal canoes
And play in the bay.
One Monday
At school,
The fool of a Headmaster
Announced that Terry had died,
A boating accident in the bay.
On a grey winter morning
I went to Terry's house
For his funeral,
He was laying in a coffin
In the kitchen.
His hair had turned pink,
I think,
He looked fat.
I almost laughed,
But afterwards
I felt ashamed.
I wore my uniform,
They were the best clothes I had,
At the time.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
