Monday, June 8, 2009

June the Sixth

An original RipperBravo6 poem. Thanks WW2 vets, for your service and your shining example.

A boy I was,

from far off lands.

Who heard the call,

and came to fight.

A farmers son,

from Illinois.

Who came to do,

what he thought right.

For months we trained,

we learned our jobs.

Then boarded ships,

to cross the sea.

To land in England,

to stay a while.

Then on to Europe,

to set it free.

Be still my heart,

I whispered down.

To that beating thing,

inside my chest.

Waiting, worrying.

Just biding my time,

A scared little boy,
like all the rest.

When, o' when,

O' day of days.

Like hammer cocked,

we were forced to wait.

Til weather broke,

til stars aligned.

Til mighty fortune,

made our fate.

We trained and trained,

and prayed for war

And then it came,

on wing-ed feet.

That fateful morning,

June the Sixth.

We sauntered out,

the foe to meet.

We shouldered packs,

had one last smoke.

Shook a hand,

and checked our sights.

Then crossed The Channel,

on that morn.

To help our comrades,

who dropped by night.

A Big Red One,

upon my sleeve.

I braved the surf,
the sand, the shale.

The German guns,

which spit such fire.

Turning beach,

to living hell.

The things I saw,

men should not see.

The things I felt,

I cannot share.

By grace of God,

or sheer damn luck.

I left that beach,

my life was spared.

I turned my back,

on Omaha.

Joined the line,

and took my place.

Too many good friends,

left behind.

To sleep eternal,

in cold grounds embrace.

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