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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I watched him shake his hand And say a gruff goodbye To his beloved grandson. Old soldiers do not cry. He fiercely rubbed his eyes To stop unmanly tears As he recalled that other war From those now long past years. If old men could go to war He would gladly take the place Of this young lad without a clue Of what he is to face. He recalls himself, the innocent, Proudly going off to war To fight Hitler and his cronies, Back in Nineteen Forty-Four. He arrived there just in time In the battles to indulge In the most desperate fighting The Big Battle of the Bulge. Though he lost so many buddies, He somehow stayed alive Until the bullet with his name In Nineteen Forty-Five. He felt his life-blood flowing. All he could do was wait For the pick-up crew to come for him. He hoped they weren't too late. They came too late to save his leg. Doctors said that it must go. For him the war was over, At least they told him so. But he kept right on fighting Every night in his dark dreams. He could see the bullets fllying And could hear his comrade's screams. He was glad to have his Mary Who held him in her arms And told him it was over And soothed him with her charms. He and Mary had two daughters. They weren't blessed with a son. Somehow he didn't mind because He need not worry over one Who like him would have to go To fight another mindless war. At last the nightmares ended. He was at peace once more. His pride was in this grandson The son he never had, This boy who said he wanted To be like his old granddad. With one last wave he limped away With his Mary by his side. His nightmares had not ended. That night the old man cried. Buy Joyce Johnson
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