Prisoner of War book

"The Cry" - A Poem by Edmund S. Culhane



The lights went up and the crowd filed out,

except the old man who sat there cryin':

For his buddies who never came back,

And the horror dredged up, by Private Ryan.


Those citizen soldiers who died and fought,

with their blood and lives our Freedom bought.

The life each of us, this day enjoys,

we owe to them, War made men of boys.

It seems to be somewhat queer,

that we take just one single day each year.

To thank those who did so dearly pay

for the freedom we enjoy each day.


So when next you see our Flag on high,

it shouldn't take an old man's cry,

to remind us of how very much we owe,

to those who in marshaled ranks did go,


To keep the tryant from our shore,

who paid in pain and blood and more.

So take some time and seek them out,

their war time memories they do not shout,


you can tell them by the way they stand,

and salute the emblem of our land.

Go tell them thank you from your heart,

that's all they ask 'ere they depart.



EDMUND S. CULHANE

November 11, 1998


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