A poem from my father, who I thank once again for his service, and thanks on this day to his brother, my uncle Johnny who did not board the flite back.
The Secret
Three men rode in a green sedan
While fall was in the air
To a farm house far out in the woods
With an old man sitting there
But as they drove up to the house
He met them in the drive
Then said as they got out of the car
“I know our son is not alive.
You see his mother had a dream
That he wasn’t coming back
Now she’s in the hospital
From a real bad heart attack
She never learned to read or write
So his letters she never read
Now I’ll just read her the old letters again –
I won’t tell her that he’s dead.
The good lord will know my reasons
While I’m telling her her the lies
So she’ll believe he’s still alive
Until the day she dies.
I’ll bury him in the family plot
With no marker on his grave
His mother won’t know he’s buried there
At least her life I’ll save
Would you care to have some coffee
Or do you have to go
Thank you for all your kindness
Please don’t let his mother know”
The men got back into the car
Then slowly drove away
There was nothing they could do for him
Or anything they could say
But, the old man kept his secret
and his wife has never found
Why he’s always placing flowers
on an unmarked piece of ground.
More on Memorial Day at Indepundit.
One more Memorial as well, to one who perhaps served us best of all — here’s a few words of tribute at Publius Pundit.
