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A veteran of World War Two sat by his hearth thinking back on the war.
Through dim and misty eyes he recalled his buddies and the horrible gore.
He wondered why he survived to come home when others forfeited life,
In The Battle of the Bulge where he was a rifleman midst that brutal strife.

He recalled too many nights shivering in his foxhole with freezing feet,
Trying to keep awake guarding his post in the blinding snow and sleet.
From afar could be heard thundering cannon that was aimed his way.
"Lord", he prayed "please let me survive this night to live another day!"

He recalled being scantily clothed - hot coffee and food was very rare.
He damned those in the rear for his plight who didn't seem to care.
On Christmas Day those in the rear dined on turkey with lots to spare.
For Christmas dinner he and his buddies ate C-rations for holiday fare.

His eyes misted when he thought of frozen heroes lying in the snow,
Their grieving next-of-kin - the little kids whose dads they'd never know.
But in the midst of battle he must put all such gruesome thoughts aside,
And not let his brothers down - those brave men who soldiered at his side.

With other old veterans he talked with kids in school lest they forget,
Telling them how much is owed to those who paid that final debt!
He buried his face in gnarled hands that once held the terrible weapons of war,
Weeping unabashedly pleading, "Please God, no more strife forever more!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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