For Valour

The Victoria Cross was, for valour, bestowed
and it’s true not all would have done what was done,
but his sacrifice was for no honourable code
save the licence to brandish and fire a gun.

In an earlier time when the streets were ablaze
our hero, seduced by the twittering spawn,
ran amok with the worst till at death of the day
he skulked home and waited for jack-boots at dawn.

Had that rap to crack open his shell but come
his mother would now be awaiting, at the gate
of Wormwood Scrubs prison, a broken son
and not, on an airfield, a flag-adorned crate.