The Homeless Hero Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Glyndwr Michael, born in a one roomed home
In 1907, in Aberbargoed, Caerphilly, Wales
Was a sprat in a tin, starved all through his childhood

His miner father killed himself
Leaving his son an ugly legacy
No hope, no future, living on part-time jobs,
Then drifting off to London
Magnet for waifs and strays

A disused warehouse near King's Cross
There's where they found him
Thirty six. A jobless, homeless, case
He'd eaten bread spread lavish with rat poison

Two days he took to die in St Pancras Hospital
The authorities called him a lunatic
Despite no evidence to prove their claim

And then, he rose like Lazarus,
His corpse was washed, chin shaved
Hair trimmed, a manicure, a pedicure,
No effort spared to make him look a gent
(A pity he wasn't alive to savour it,)
Expensive clothing from the inside out
Finally treated like a person of worth

They dressed him as an officer of the Marines
They reinventedhim as Willian Martin
Captain (Acting Major)intelligence officer
Planted misinformation on him. Dropped his corpse at sea

The Nazis swallowed the bait, hook line and sinker.
They say that homeless Welshman made a difference
Operation mincemeat, top brass trickery

They buried him with military honours
(Provincia de Huelva, Andalucia, Spain
San Marcos Section, Grave number fourteen)
Post mortem, valued, treated with respect