Coming Home

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.