There was a young man who returned from war, Called home to his mother, his voice raw and sore. "I'm back in the States, Mom, I'm finally here." Her heart leapt with joy, her eyes filled with cheer.
"I'm preparing a feast, all your favorites, dear." He said, "Mom, I'd like to bring a friend near." "Of course, son," she said, "That's wonderful news." But he had more to share, his tone somber, subdued.
"My friend lost his eye in the midst of the fight." "That's no problem, son," she answered, polite. "There's another thing, Mom, he lost his right leg." "That's a bit harder, but we'll make it," she said.
"One more thing, Mom, his right arm's gone too." She paused, then replied, "We'll manage for you." "But, Mom," he continued, "I promised he'd stay." Her voice grew uncertain, "Son, not in that way."
"We can't handle that, it's too much to bear, The costs and the strain, it wouldn't be fair." He replied softly, "I'll tell him, it's fine." The next day, the news left her heart in a bind.
Her son took his life, the burden too great, The friend he spoke of was his own broken state. He sought understanding, a place to belong, But faced with rejection, he couldn't stay strong.
Now she lives with the guilt, the echoing pain, Wishing she'd seen past his words to his strain. A lesson in love, in acceptance so true, For every soldier, and the battles they go through.
Freedom is never free, A truth through history we see. Each generation, brave and bold, Must fight anew for rights of old.
In fields and streets, on land and sea, Men and women strive to keep us free. With courage, they stand against the night, For liberty, they wage the fight.
Sacrifices made, the price they pay, To guard the freedoms we hold today. For every inch of ground reclaimed, For every victory proudly named.
We honor those who faced the foe, In their footsteps, we too must go. For freedom’s flame, they lit the way, A torch we carry, come what may.
Let us remember, never forget, The debt we owe, the vows we've met. For freedom's song, a legacy, Each generation's guarantee.
Good morning, echoes through the dawn's first light, A tale of valor, sorrow, and might. In nineteen-oh-seven, a boy was born, To a widow whose heart was torn.
His father, taken by a brother’s hand, Left a young widow in a desolate land. He grew up fast, a child no more, Dropped out in fifth grade to work, to toil, and bore.
Four brothers looked up to his guiding hand, In the logging woods, he made his stand. Married young, and children came, Seven in total, three angels to name.
In forty-four, when the world was ablaze, A month-old baby, he’d have to leave in a haze. From Harlan County to Normandy’s shore, This Kentucky boy faced the horrors of war.
Men fell like rain on that blood-soaked beach, One young soldier’s sanity just out of reach. “No need for a gun,” he cried out loud, As chaos raged and death's shadow shrouded.
Liberation brought tears to his weary eyes, Death camps unveiled humanity’s demise. In a foxhole, with a testament lost, He crawled through the night, in the cold and frost.
Hands bleeding, searching for hope, Found a Bible, bloodied, a way to cope. Twice wounded, he persevered, Shook Patton’s hand, a memory revered.
Post-war missions with Lt. Schaefer’s call, Hunting war criminals, he gave his all. Came home broken, inside and out, Shell shock, treatments, a mind full of doubt.
Twenty-five years, he battled unseen foes, A hero in shadows, the pain only grows. No bridges or highways bear his name, But his sacrifice remains, forever aflame.
A military family, devoted and true, To God and country, their hearts they imbue. When flags are trampled, in anger and pain, Remembering the fallen, tears fall like rain.
As taps play softly, a tribute to the brave, For your dad, your husband, the memories you save. In their honor, with pride, you stand tall, Heroes remembered, one and all.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Taken from a story on Facebook “Journey of a Mountain Woman”
Oh, to return to days gone by, when Pap would stride along, Up the railroad, his purpose clear, in his heart a humble song. He marked his vote upon the Republican slate, yet at home, peace did dwell, For mother was a staunch Democrat, but love rang the dinner bell.
May 1, 2024 Created by MarkWaldrop
Taken from the story: Old one Quilt Pieces Shirley Noe Swiesz
Wars rage not just on battlefields grim and stark, But in the shadowed corners of every weary heart. Victory claimed by fire and steel’s cold bite, Leaves only ashes, remnants of spite.
True conquest lies not in the silenced scream, Nor in the landscapes of some tyrant’s dream. For every city razed, every mother’s tear, Sows the bitter seeds of another war near.
The mightiest force wields no weapon or shield, But the quiet strength in the human field, Where compassion roots deeper than old enmities, Where understanding breaks chains, sets spirits free.
True peace blossoms through the heart’s own door, A tranquil harbor from the inner war. When hearts are mended, so too are nations’ ties,In the soft, hushing whispers of reconciled cries.
From the heart’s peace, there springs a well so clear, That those who drink may never again fear. For only when the heart’s war ceases to rage, Will peace truly ink history’s next page.
Let us march not to the drums of war, but to the song of peace, Where every note played is a promise to cease. With each heart that chooses the path of calm delight, We find the dawn of love and end the long, dark night.
In a corner of the world, under a window so bright,
Amanda R. Waldrop shares a tale of delight.
Mark, with a thought so tender and able,
Gifted a squirrel picnic table.
Perched outside the window of her home office view,
A scene unfolds, fresh as morning dew.
Where nature's little jesters, in their playful spree,
Feast upon their table, in pure glee.
Molly, the kitty, with eyes wide and keen,
Watches the squirrels, in a world serene.
Together they sit, day by day,
In silent camaraderie, in their own special way.
Amanda, with Molly, finds joy so profound,
In the simple pleasures that abound.
A squirrel picnic table, a window, a sight,
Turns ordinary moments into pure delight.
So here's to the small things that make life sweet,
To moments of peace, our hearts' retreat.
For in the story of Amanda, Mark, and Molly's grace,
Lies a reminder of the beauty in our space.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop “Grandpa”
In lands so vast, beneath skies so wide,
Where dreams awaken and freedoms reside.
"God Bless America," we humbly plead,
In every whisper, in every deed.
American souls, so brave, so bold,
Crafting futures from the mold.
Blessed by God, on this path we trod,
Seeking justice, under His watchful nod.
From mountains majestic to oceans deep,
Across the plains, where the wheat fields sweep.
God's grace upon this land does shower,
Gifting strength, resilience, and power.
American spirit, fierce and free,
A beacon of hope, for all to see.
Blessed be God, in His glory and might,
Guiding us through, day and night.
"American Bless God," with grateful hearts,
For liberty and peace, in all our parts.
Together we stand, united, strong,
In God's grace, where we all belong.
May this land, under God's divine,
Forever in freedom and unity shine.
Bless America, land so grand,
Held and cherished, in His loving hand.
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the tapestry of time, my age is but a thread,
Woven into patterns, where my thoughts and dreams are spread.
Not the count of years, nor the lines upon my skin,
But the age of my ideas, where youth and wisdom begin.
For thoughts can be as ancient as the oldest star in night,
Or fresh as morning dew under the newborn light.
They dance between the epochs, in whispers and in roars,
Journeying through the ages, opening countless doors.
In my mind, I've walked with Plato, under Athens' sunlit skies,
And pondered with the poets, where the heart of passion lies.
I've dreamed of future worlds, where peace and love prevail,
And innovation's sails are set, with hope as the wind to sail.
It's not the years that weigh me down, or the pace at which they go,
But the freshness of my thoughts, that keeps my spirit aglow.
For as long as curiosity's fire burns bright and clear,
I am ageless, boundless, far beyond a mere year.
So let the calendar mark time, in its relentless, steady trot,
I measure life by the vibrance of the thoughts that I have got.
For it's not how old I am, in the years that I've accrued,
But the age of my thoughts, in their multitude.
March 8, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In skies above, on Memorial Day's light,
I served the aisles, a flight attendant's plight.
The first row held a passenger, a sight so rare,
Beside him, a dog with a valorous air.
Corporal Kiddy, her name, a Marine so bold,
Twelve years of service, her story untold.
With fur not adorned in medals or lace,
But with honor and courage, she held her place.
Retirement beckoned, her duty now done,
A life of battles, now set to the sun.
I seized the moment, a tribute to cast,
For her years of service, vast.
The cabin listened, as I spoke of her deed,
An announcement for a hero, indeed.
Applause thundered, a sound so profound,
For Corporal Kiddy, respect was bound.
At the sound, she leaped, a lap to find,
Accepting homage from those so kind.
Not just a dog, but a Marine so grand,
On her final flight, to retirement land.
A tale of loyalty, courage, and might,
Of Corporal Kiddy, on that Memorial flight.
A flight attendant's story, of a day so bright,
When honor and applause took to the night.
February 18, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
