My daddy came home from the World War;
To a nation flush with victory;
Nazis and the “Japs” defeated;
But the atom has been released.
“They’re starving children in Korea”;
“So clean your plate without a fuss!”
Joe McCarthy sees a Red Threat;
Lo, the enemy is us!
But such concerns are lost on children;
With their simple, naive minds;
In joy of chasing fields of butterflies;
And riding on our bikes.
Watching cowboys, Davy Crockett;
Howdy Doody on the tube;
Goin’ fishin’, mom’s fried chicken;
Blue-sky Sunday afternoons.
Expeditions to the shady wood;
Where moss grows on the logs;
Skippin’ rocks and catchin’ crawdads;
Watchin’ polliwogs turn to frogs.
Sneakin’ Farmer Brown’s peach orchard;
Where we pilfer from his trees;
And we eat our fill of peaches;
As the juice runs down our cheeks.
Like honey from a jug;
The time pours out so slow and sweet;
O’er barefoot days in summer grass;
Warm and lush beneath our feet.
Flat on our backs, commiserate;
With friends we hold so dear;
While lazy clouds float overhead;
And each day seems like a year.
Gentle firefly glow in Mason jars;
(Sweet lost age of innocence)
Replaced by blinding flashes in the desert;
Nuclear spores borne on the winds.
Hide and seek ‘neath velvet skies;
Where “failsafe” bombers ever cruise;
Sputnik soars ‘mongst fields of stars;
A race we can’t afford to lose!
Tongues of fire lift from the launch pads;
Gone are days that were simplistic;
Cold lights arcing through the Zodiac;
Herald days of things ballistic.
But life’s hope still springs eternal;
In youth’s optimistic view;
First dance, first love, going steady;
Khrushchev vows, “We’ll bury you!”
Days of Armageddon looming!
Castro Cuban missile threat;
Naval blockade, world in crisis!
Mankind holds collective breath.
Lead lined rooms built ‘neath the earth;
Nuclear escalating race;
Air raid sirens! Duck and cover!
Interrupted classroom days.
In sun-drenched fields of prairie grass;
The brooding missile silos bloom;
Looking forward to life’s promise;
They’re grim reminders of our doom.
And once again, a growing menace;
Sends young men to fight and die;
That their children might know sunshine;
And chase fields of butterflies.
‘Twas our fathers’ selfless sacrifice;
Secured our childhood peace;
And truer words were never spoken than;
“Our freedom is not free!”
Now life's wheel has turned full circle;
And we're called to distant shores;
Where we'll take a stand for freedom;
Just as those who've gone before.
As our fathers' blood once stained the sands;
Of Normandy and Guam;
So time has come for us to spill;
Our blood in Viet Nam.
But this poem is not to second guess;
Nor argue right or wrong;
Just reminiscing on a childhood ‘neath;
The shadow of “The Bomb.”
© Robert Wheatley, May, 2001
I am most grateful and honored to have the author’s permission to post this poem, here.
Robert Wheatley requested that a link be posted to his Vietnam War web site:
http://www.Viet-REMF.net ...as well as to his veteran's organization website
http://www.TLC-Brotherhood.org ”We are particularly proud of our assistance program to aid the needy children of Southeast Asia.” Details on the assistance program can be found at:
http://www.tlc-brotherhood.org/thare.html rewheatl@cnz.com...
