Mononymous

They call me, Mononymous,

even though that is not my name,

I was born, they called me Chuckles,

and that was fine for them,

I thought of myself as Chuck,

but went through life

with a parrot called Chip

on my shoulder.

I couldn’t be a soldier,

and so grew white feathers

which turned into doves of peace,

when, oh when, will the fighting cease.

I flew away

for a year

and a day,

then more.

I was never seen again

upon this foreign shore.

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