Coming Home (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.