All He Has Left Are The Memories Poem by Francis Duggan

All he has left are the memories the memories of what used to be
Of where he grew into manhood in the Village by the Atlantic sea
Where everybody knew everybody everyone in the Village he did know
There now he would be a stranger since he left there a long time ago.

He has retained his Welsh accent with him no doubt it will stay
Until the reaper will claim him and in time from him that can't be too far away
For he has had his eighty third birthday for him time too did not wait
All of us Humans mere mortals we are born with a use by date.

Way back in the early forties he proved himself a man amongst men
In the last great war in Europe medals for his bravery he did win
Back then he was quite a hero and his praises often were sung
Back then he did have a future as the future belong to the young.

All he has left are the memories of his Village by a distant shore
Here in this southern Country his bones will lay forever more
One more forgotten old hero time has left him bent and gray
He was a child of the twenties but children too grow old one day.