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