
She stands
in the middle
of a war-torn street,
Ukrainian flag in hand,
angel wings over her
puffy coat,
donned for warmth,
no protection against
bullets and bombs.
I weep for her innocence
and pray for her protection.
And an end
to senseless war.
She stands
in the middle
of a war-torn street,
Ukrainian flag in hand,
angel wings over her
puffy coat,
donned for warmth,
no protection against
bullets and bombs.
I weep for her innocence
and pray for her protection.
And an end
to senseless war.
You went to war,
at seventeen,
boarding a Navy ship
to unknown waters,
tearful and fearful,
yet brave for all that,
knowing not
what to expect,
but ready
– you prayed –
for what lay ahead.
You spoke only once
of the horror you saw,
but you lived it
in moments quiet,
when you withdrew
to think about
what you’d been through.
Grieving and baffled,
by innocence lost,
you served with pride,
to keep freedom alive.
In tribute to my father, Tommy Conkle, who proudly served in the U.S. Navy during WWII.
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