He never wrote of war
Folded, brown air-mail envelopes
Flew from country to country.
Mine a youthful scrawl
His writing small and precise.
He wrote of things worlds away
Nurses, he’d met …
Never spoke of his war wounds.
I wrote of girl-friends, “saddle shoes”
And “sock-hops”.
The years slipped by
His war wounds leaving their mark
My life was full
A special boy, a ring, a wedding…
Two baby girls.
He sent toys, books
And tiny lacey dresses
For his “princesses.”
His health failed.
At the end he gave me a brave salute
His pillow sprinkled with my tears.
So many memories…stories, laughter
A dancing kilt, a prickly mustache,
A brother’s love.
For me, Remembrance Day comes more than once a year.
