For answering the call

Your bravery in World War II,

Helped Australia stand tall. 

My generation doesn't even understand

What your generation did for our land

How you left ... mere boys of eighteen,

To go fight at places yet unseen. 

To experience horror, pain and fear,

And yet you went 

To fight for everything

That Australia held dear. 

You went without even asking why,

You went knowing you could possibly die

Dear Dad, you should be honoured every day 

And yet you never mention it . . . 

Do you remember it in your heart? 

Are you proud that you did your part? 

World War II men possess strengths 

That my generation doesn't even know 

Quiet bravery, courage and unity, 

Against a common foe.  

You were tested in countless ways untold, 

Yet you marched forth in battle, proud and bold

You saw stories that are too horrific to recall,

You saw your fellow soldiers and friends fall.  

You then came back, married, raised a family,

Built a country too, now prosperous and free

Time marched on  steady and true, 

And now 50 years later, we still remember you. 

You are grandfathers now and your hair is gray, 

You'll always be our hero, for you led the way

To a country where my children play,

Strong and free every single day. 

The trials and hardships you endured, 

The many terrible things you saw,

They know nothing about the cost,

Nor the very many friends you lost.  

But we will teach them the lessons

You taught with your lives, 

About courage and dignity 

And the will to survive. 

About the great ideal of democracy, 

About the price you paid,

To make it all possible,

To live in a free land.  

Thank you, dear Dad, for being so strong, 

Thank you for standing up against wrong.

You'll always be my hero and Australia's too

We will always be indebted to you. 

Thank you for going so long ago,

Thanks for securing this blessed life I know

Thank you for fighting to keep us free, 

Thank you for saving the future for me. 

Anne Dunajcik 

**

THE WALL

So many names glisten in the sun,

So many hearts still ... like black stone

So many mysteries hide the missing ones,

So many tears ... red roses weep alone.

So many feel the spirit of The Wall,

As if some magic blessing lingers there

Remembering our heroes ... one and all,

The Wall ... so many names ... so many prayers.

A pilgrimage to where true courage lies,

Where thousands stop to touch a name and pray

Above the reverence ... someone's mother cries,

A brother got a new red Rose today.

I reach to touch your name to say, It's me

I feel a tiny brush of Angel wings,

As if to say, My spirit is now free

The Wall ... the names ... and remembering. 

Marsha Burks Megehee 

**

There's a wall of marble,

Five hundred feet long ...

Ten feet high, scribed with names,

Of those who died ... the strong.

There's thousands and thousands

Etched upon that stone

Most of them died so young,

This life ... they've never known.

It's such a small tribute

To those who fought our war

Such a small price we pay,

To those who gave much more.

Their name carved in a rock

That most of us won't read

Not near enough praise to give,

For their most gracious deed.

Seems there's too many of us,

Who don't really seem to care

That we stayed home secure and safe,

While they died over there.

Remember when you see that Wall,

With all those initials and names,

That those men were only pawns ...

In one more of those deadly games.

Let's hope what they gave had meaning,

And that peace will always reign

That we won't have to send our young,

To fight and die again. 

Del Abe Jones 

**

Good night, Dad,

I watched my father,

As he climbed the stairs to go to bed

Good night, son,- he softly answered,

With a vague salute to his white head. 

I waved back from my big chair,

But Dad's wave was more salute

He learned that sixty years ago,

As a World War II recruit. 

The story goes ... Dad was eighteen,

When World War II broke out

About the age my son is now,

Too young to know what life's about. 

I think I know how I would feel,

If they drafted my young son

I suppose my grand folks felt the same,

December Seventh, Nineteen Forty-one.  

Dad seldom talked about the war,

But I remember, as a kid,

Once I asked him where he went,

And what it was he did. 

He said, Someday, son, I'll tell you,

When you're old enough to know,

About the battlefields I fought on,

And the bloodshed I saw flow.  

And, you know, he's never told me,

I've asked time and time again

I do know he has some medals,

In velvet cases in his den. 

He used to get them out each year,

When he donned his uniform

Parades would be held on holidays,

And Veterans would perform.  

That's my Dad, I'd point out,

As he marched proudly down the street

His old unit reunited,

Those old guys never missed a beat. 

But I wonder how he felt and thought,

When, still a boy, he went to war,

Was it just a new adventure?

Did he know what the fight was for?  

He gave up his days at college,

Instead of pigskins, he had guns

He heard no cheers for touchdowns,

Just, Thank God, they're on the run- 

When I was just a little kid,

Sometimes Dad screamed out at night

Mom would say, Go back to bed,

War dreams give your Dad a fright

My Uncle Ned was killed in France,

That was Dad's youngest brother

Dad wouldn't talk about him much,

What I knew ... I learned from Mother. 

That was the war, they said,

To end all future wars

How many have we had since then?

I wonder ... any more?  

My Dad's a gentle, quiet man,

Who won't discuss his fears or pains

He fought for those unborn, as yet,

To insure this land remains. 

There is no proper way to thank him,

That will have to come from God above

But I can, at least, extend my hand,

In sincere respect and love. 

Virginia Ellis