Memorial Day

My father was a soldier And he fought in World War II. He never shared his stories Of the battles he’d been through. We looked at all his pictures With his uniform and gun, Just horsin’ with his buddies And pretending it was fun. Yet even though the years had passed, It still was a mistake If he dozed off on the couch And it was time to have him wake. For a tiny little poke and bam! He’d jump up in alarm, In his head back in a foxhole, Fighting off impending harm. We kids learned early on That we should tap him and step back; In seconds he would realize That it wasn’t an attack. It made me wonder ‘bout the war And all that he’d endured. Those pictures kept the truth at bay, Reality obscured. I think about my dad And every soldier on this day. We can’t imagine how it feels To muddle through the fray. So we can only honor them For what they sacrifice. Not every soldier perishes, But each one pays a price.