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THERE SLEEP'S A STORM
Sleeping in a muddy trench.
Our heroes breathing filthy stench.
Or resting in a bed of sand.
Temperatures rising to a crimson red.
Sleep don't come easy
Lying on an asphalt road.
With tanks at their feet.
And AMMO their pillow.
Waking all hours when bugles blow.
One eye opened. One eye closed.
Dreaming of the bed you're in tonight.
No matter how lumpy! Oh sweet delight!
A restroom a snack, air conditioning.
Given up so others may hear liberty bells ring.
So when you lay yourself down to sleep.
Pray the Lord their souls to keep.
A cool breeze to float across their cheek.
And lots of food for them to eat.
Lord keep them safe or cool or warm.
Until they're home. THERE SLEEP'S A STORM.
MAFLongfellow
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