Three Year Old's War
My poem 'Night Flight' caused my brain to address, to some degree, a part of my childhood, that became a major part of me. I left a whole lot of happenings out, but even then at three, so many factors of man's life, was driven home in me.
Three Year Olds War
By Arley Steinhour 012111 (mod 012218)
Shortly after turning three, it was Sunday, cold, crisp, and bright,
Cold cereal, dress in our best, off to Church with heart so light.
I can't say I remember, one thing about Church, that fateful day,
I was so glad it was done, and homeward bound, to hear Radio play.
Grandma would fix up a lunch, as we listened to a story,
Sometimes even Praising songs, with story to His Glory.
This day proved just a tad bit weird, as some guy broke in to say,
Some place called Pearl Harbor (in Hawaii), had been bombed today.
All I knew was, program didn't come back at all that day,
The grown-ups pushed us kids aside, and said, 'go out and play.'
I had turned an ancient three, almost two months before,
And wanted to know why women cried, as Grandpa slammed the door.
Neighbors came running, when Grandma Cried-Out, to COME,
I don't know how many grown-ups came, (at three counting has no Sum).
I just knew, something very big, had changed my life that day,
But for some reason, I knew full well, I didn't want to go and play.
Life for me became a blur, for weeks, or months, I'd have to say,
As all the country changed their lives to be wrapped in War that day.
The call went out, for anything, made of metal that could be used,
Sis, and I, we did our part at the dump, collecting cans bent and bruised.
With gunny bag, in my hand, dump ground was mine for work, not play,
Hours, crawling around, picking up things, that would Save the Day.
The war, for me, was so much fun, I didn't really understand,
Plying, the once forbidden dump, became 'Treasure in my hand.'
'Everything,' went to the war, even nifty half used toys,
Some toys earned a weeks reprieve, (if it were made for boys).
Grandpa started building cabins, in the big back yard,
The new Army Air Base was being built to teach men fast and hard.
Some how, some way my Grandpa found, enough quality to keep his pride,
To fix abode for families, for the time, before they 'fought and died.'
He let me help, I had two jobs, finding, and straightening nails,
Straightening hurt the fingers, but nails were needed by the pails.
I sometimes think that war ruined me, I still can't 'throw away,'
Anything that might have a use, or value left, for another day.
One big, small story, about a World War, big, small boy,
Who learned early on, how to make a piece of junk, a toy.
Depression mind-set, with War-time work-set, to keep our Nation free,
Helped to make that little three to seven year old, a one and only, me.
War locks deep inside the heart, events and memorys, hard to erase,
Especially for a three year old, be it war scar, or God's Saving Grace.
AMEN
- -- Posted by Geezer on Sat, Jan 22, 2011, at 9:41 PM
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