I take no credit for the following poems as they are not of my own work.
The following poems about the legacy of this war were written by World
War II soilders.
"The Hour Is Go"
By Francis J. Turner - from his personal archives.
One's eyes close tight and families fade,
When going to war which evil men made
Though anxious and frightened,wedon't let it show,
For the day is approaching ,when the Airborne must go.
Each day now rolls past ,we wait just the same,
But D-Day is near ,and for this we all came.
The hour grows near,each man feels it inside,
And soon we'll be falling ,with nowhere to hide.
Our eyes are now down and the chatter the same,
Each weapon now loaded ,no longer a game,
The hour grows near; each man feels it inside,
And soon we'll be falling, with nowhere to hide.
Our eyes are now down and the chatter the same,
Each weapon now loaded, no longer a game.
Eagles gather round and bow your heads low,
Europe awaits and the hour is go.
Planes rumble past as we wait for our turn,
To fly over waters we have yet to each earn.
Checked buckles and straps, left nothing to chance,
The Jumpmaster stands, calls "Welcome to France".
Flak turns to fire in the blackest of night,
Too low, too fast, can't jump from this height.
There's no turning back, the risk has been taken,
Free fall into hell, paratrooper's forsaken.
Eagles hold tight, scattered prayers to survive,
We'll hit the ground soon, whether dead or alive.
As feet touch the ground, each soldiers turns on,
Confusion and fear are beaten and gone.
The enemy is close and sad they don't know
The Airborne is here, it's time they must go.
The hour is now, Hitler's had his last chance
On St. Michael's wings, we're taking back France.
" That Something "
By Ronald Tee -56th Recce Regiment,Battlaexe Division, British 8th army.
From the book "A British Soldier Remembers" .
It's funny, how one can lie,
and remember things of days gone by.
And in perhaps one short minute,
recapture a past year and all that's in it.
It's funny, how a quiet room,gives chance to ponder
leading our thoughts, or even a funny phrase,
will recall something that happend in bye gone days.
Everyone stores up things that have past,
some are forgotten, others will always last.
But a soldier who has been to war
has a life's memory book,something more.
"Something" that can only be,
in memories of men like you and me.
"Something" that is born midst shot and shell,
develops and grows in times of bloody hell.
This "comradship" as it is known us,
of which we never make much fuss.
Is this "something which in our minds was set
in lands where many are lying yet.
And so I remember from the start ,
the lads I knew,now far apart
my soldiering is finished,i leave it all behind,
but that "something" comes with me in my mind.
" The Hills Of Bastogne"
By Bernard J. Mckearney. from the book "Rendezvous With Destiny,
A history of the 101st Airborne Division"by Leonard Rapport and Arthur Northwood , Jr.
Under License by Sean Konecky.
The crops should be full in Belgium this year,
The soil should be fertile ,but the price has been dear,
The wheat should be red on the hills of Bastogne
For its roots have been drenched by the blood of our own.
Battered and reeling we stand in their way,
It's here we are , and here we will stay.
Embittered,wrathful,we watch our pals fall,
God, where's the end,the end of it all?
Confident and powerful,they strike at our lines,
But we beat them back,fighting for time.
Berserk with fury,they are hitting us now,
Flesh against steel-we'll hold -but how?
For each day that we stay,more mothers must grieve,
For each hill that we hold more men we must we leave.
Yes,honor the men who will some day come home,
But pray the men 'neath the hills of Bastogne
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