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,
I placed the picture back in his hand,
And left him there
On Normandy's Sand.
Author, E. Owen Edwards, USNR
PS: I wonder if that soldier dying on Normandy's bloody sands said: "There is no God?" I think not.