“And help us to make sure that there are no more Viet Nams,
Where good men worked too hard, and we let stuff get in the way,”
Thanks for posting Bob’s Poem, it was so well done. Reminding me of a Christmas on a jungle river in ‘64.
I shared some hoarded treats from home with my boat crew
and we paused to reflect that we alive for one more day, thanking the Big Guy for that favor! We might have been singing a few of the old favorite Christmas songs but mighty soft so as not to upset the neighbors if you get my drift.
While downtown Minneapolis the other day, I watch the flow of people, many who walked past a homeless man curled into a corner of a bus shelter trying to get through the day. ( the missions only take them at night. It was a real lesson in Living the Season, and it was not a good one! I took the guy to a restaurant and while low on money myself, I could at least buy him a dinner and help him stay warm for a couple of hours as we chatted. It inspired the following poem.
The Winter of Life
The song of winter
whispers in the bare branches above
as dawn glimmers
on the ice shrouded trunks
and the snows
crunch softly underfoot
I sit on my grate to watch
the flow of man
as cold as the very air we breath
as hard to bear
as heartless as winter’s rage
each just a Me
Lost amid a crowd
a grain of sand on an empty beach
I watch so empty
for I am but one of the invisible
to run my time
and disappear as if never been
Thank you so much, Wayzata JOHNN, for all your have done for our country. Welcome Home.