The Quiet Hours

And the stories fell in reams Of the past and future dreams For war had not bittered them These valiant but normal men Tales of home and pastures green Of family, fields and flowing stream Treasured times at campfires glow Bring forth a smile in battles throw For these are the quiet hours Not the day when fear sours A time to sit in reflection Distant memories for collection Not the angst or shedded tear The shrapnels call or bullets fear Foxhole, ditch they bravely sit Tomorrows call and death outwit Stars are stars on any night Who ever gazes burn so bright Your enemy sees them to And makes that wish as you do