We are men of a company,

we boys of ’60 and ’70,

we who fought the war that wasn’t.

At times I get dispatches of peers

from the wind,

or the path that I have cut

opens to clearing

where I find one or two

reminiscing

and we talk

about the men we have known

and where they are.

And the words underline

the knowing in the eye

that you catch in a moment

like a glimpse of a face

in the undergrowth.

For we are men of one heart,

we men of this company,

we boys of ’60 and ’70.

Beyond the pleasantries we know

our tale is that of the man in the bush

who knows

the Sniper has a bead on him.