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.