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
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