By Elizabeth Myers Hartung
It was a cold and windy November morning at a National Cemetery
A retired nurse had died, and services had begun already
The salute was being given, by five armed service men
And a little child cuddled closer to her Grandfather and whispered just then
With a frightened voice, and a wrinkled brow
Who are they shooting at now?”
No one honey, was his reply–” It's to honor Grandma,
you see Grandma was a soldier who never carried a gun
She helped take care of the wounded until there were none.
The little child looked up at him and smiled as a tear rolled down her face.
Then she took hold of his hand and they stood up together in dignity and grace.
The haunting melody of Taps still echoed over the graves
Bidding its mournful fairwell as a gentle wind blew across our face.
Yes, Grandma was a soldier, fighting in World War Two.
One of the many nurses who laughed and cried with you.
She never told any stories about what had occurred before.
But she was proud that she could serve In the United States Army Nurse Corps.
This is a little poem I wrote after my sister-in law died. The title is what my brother said to his granddaughter. Just thought I'd share it with you.
Best Wishes, Elizabeth Myers Hartung
Michael Robert Patterson was born in Arlington and is the son of a former officer of the US Army. So it was no wonder that sooner or later his interests drew him to American history and especially to American military history. Many of his articles can be found on renowned portals like the New York Times, Washingtonpost or Wikipedia.
Reviewed by: Michael Howard