by Robert L. Hinshaw
It had been nigh sixty years since they chatted with each other.|
When they wore the uniform they were closer than any brother.
They'd borne the din of battle as members of a rifle squad;
One returned to Normandy to visit the other who slept 'neath the sod.
He knelt to caress the marble stone of his buddy to reminisce,
And his hushed, plaintive conversation went a lot like this:
"Greetings, my dear brother, it seems so very long ago,
Since we staged the show for the liberation of Saint Lo."
"I'll never forget the bravery of the men in our platoon,
As we clashed with the foe on that dreadful afternoon.
Each pressed on, never minding the falling bombs and shell;
As always, my friend, you were near my side when you fell."
"Oh, how my heart aches, dear pal, as I recall that fateful day,
When I clasped you to my breast as your life ebbed away.
Just the other day I saw your lovely daughter and handsome lad;
Tho' they never knew you, they're mighty proud of their dad!"
"Sleep in peace, comrade, and know you didn't die in vain;
Because of gallant men like you, the world knew peace again.
I'll stand in ranks with you for that final roll call one day."
With tearful eyes, he rose, saluted and slowly walked away.
Copyright © 2008 - Robert L. Hinshaw
Published: 8/28/08 · Author's Page · Next Poem