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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Ah the lovely seasdie Ah the lovely seaside Childhood scents Salt air, Salty bitter memories Jacques had turned just seven He dreamed to walk along the seashore He dreamed to see the seagulls sore overhead He most of all dreamed to leave his basement All the windows were covered with curtains The days, nights no matter His life was the darkness His momma and papa, gave away their smiles There were many days, the lightening was eternal Well into the night His mother held him tight They both absorbed the fear of the other Many mornings, Momma, can I walk to the beach? No Jacques my little one, you must stay here Help is needed in the kitchen He wondered what help. We have no food to cook? Many a day when no one was watching him He would peek out the window, longing The beach was simply down the street and to the left Oh how he dreamed to run and play and splash in the waves Summer was warming up his heart He knew his momma and papa loved him He knew these were bad times Even so, he decided, tomorrow, yes tomorrow So on the night of June the 5th He planned well, hiding his boots out back Made a small backpack for snacks and his jacket He fell into a deep sleep, so very pleased Up early he snuck out of the house Past the bakers and in between soldiers patrolling Quite easily he found the path down to the beach Little did poor Jacques know he was to become a part of history He ran from a little inlet out onto the beach Jumping and dancing and gleefully singing to the seagulls As he observed boats of all shapes and sizes and sailing to shore His spine tingled, with a foreboding The seaside Became hell Darkness clouded Jacques world Bombs and gunfire rained down from all sides Jacques tried to run, but his feet became heavy He stumbles and fell to the sand Thousands of solders emerged from the sea Racing towards him, some running, some falling A young Canadian man, Victor was his name Firing his rifle, and racing for the shore saw the young boy He had a new born baby back home, named him jack Well he ran and fell atop the young boy, yelling above the fray Stay quiet young man, don’t move I will protect you, fear not Even fear was the meal of the day As the seaside became Dante’s eternal hell The Germans above, fired all they had towards the beach Machine gunners fired, mortars rained and snipers took aim A young German man with a rifle was shooting anyone Whom by miracle was still moving His sites were set on that particular Canadian soldier He took aim then saw a boy underneath the soldier Well at the end of the battle, that young German soldier Had one bullet left in his rifle He could not fire In the heat of battle He pulled out a photo of his young boy Erik He kissed the photo, and wept It was the Germans last thought As a bullet ripped of his head The Canadian soldier was staring at this exact moment Pain ripped his heart, as if he too was dead Miraculously Jacques survived that day When he made his way back home His momma and papa hugged him so tight They almost strangled him For the rest his life Jacques never went by the seaside, not once For him he tasted the bitter smell of cordite death He lived his life in the vineyards, far from the sea One may wonder now How do I know all of this? Well I work at an old folk’s home as an orderly I take care of poor old Jacques I remind him daily No Jacques we will not be going to the seaside Somehow, I feel obligated to this old man As did my grandfather those many years ago Who saved the life of a little boy named Jacques June 6, 1944 Sidenote Erik and Jacques both developed a passion for wines and vineyards and became the best of friends
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