A Poet's Haven

It wasn’t those eyes, the ones he looked into…
That night at the train station or the lips he kissed…
As he trounced off to a war he didn’t want to fight…

He was one of the lucky ones who came home…
Who found those eyes still waiting for him…
Where they both said good bye…

He was able to share with her…
How he remembered their kiss…
Each and every night…

How he stormed the beaches at Normandy…
With tearful eyes, how new pals and friends…
Didn’t make it off the beach…

How each night he prayed…
For those men who wouldn’t be coming home…
How he prayed to see those eyes again…

He couldn’t share the horrors or the nightmares…
Just the peace he felt in the silent moments…
When he dug into his pocket and pulled out her photo…

Both of them had tears in their eyes…
As he confessed the fear within him…
As he prayed to see those eyes again…