I checked to see if he was dead,

A soldier lying on the Sand.

I did not speak, nor did he,

For his wounds told me there was no need.

His name knew I not, nor do I yet,

For perhaps I would soon forget.

Suddenly I realized that here was death.

He lay prostrate in the Sand,

A picture had fallen from his hand;

A wife, a baby boy of two.

Perhaps it had just arrived the

Past day or two.

His last thoughts must have been, of his God,

Of his wife, his child, his home,

And friends.

I placed the picture back in his hand,

And left him there

On Normandy's Sand.

Author, E. Owen Edwards, USNR

London

PS: I wonder if that soldier dying on Normandy's bloody sands said: "There is no God?" I think not.

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