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Posted Tuesday, August 7, 2012, at 2:06 PM

No matter the side you see 'war' from, it is 'Abrasive.'
By Arley Steinhour 080612

War was over, celebrate,
The Troops were coming home,
Age of Seven, stay up late,
Brush the teeth, and rake with comb.

Troops shouldn't see us 'rag-tag,'
But, squeaky clean as we could be,
Sunday shoe polish, buffed with rag,
Worthy of defending, in Land of Free.

So few things made, for 'welcome home,'
Balloons, there was but few,
Smile, and wave, perhaps a flag by some,
Was the best that we could do.

Some, stayed on board, and gave a wave,
Most, stretched their legs, unless it rained,
While train crews changed to fresh engines,
A respite for the war-torn, in Nebraska.

The day it started, took age Three from me,
Every childhood came to an end,
The older folk defended the Land of the Free,
With my 'stick-gun,' Homeland we kids did defend.

Metal was the big thing,
To salvage it would go,
Glass, and paper, anything,
Would help G.I. Joe,

Four years of war went very fast,
For a child who came out Seven,
Playing Soldier was a blast,
Though, Seven proved more like Eleven.

We weren't allowed too close, you know,
Unless we had a loved one coming home,
Safe Return, caused great joy to flow,
Some swore, 'No more, to Roam.'

Tears of Joy, or Tears of pain,
Many flowed, from heart and eye,
Whatever came, treat like rain,
Cherish good times passing by.


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