The fourth of July is my Favorite time of year It draws us closer to our family so dear Picnics Barbecues and all the fun things With these traditions great joy, it brings Fireworks Hamburgers Hotdogs and Apple Pie All these are great Treasures in our eye Our Country was founded on Faith in our GOD Giving us great wisdom by which we are awed Let us remember the Sacrifices of so many So that we might have Freedom with Peace and Plenty July 3, 2021 MarkWaldrop
Yesterday, as my Daddy’s farewell made its solemn way,
Led by the United States Marine Corps in proud array,
We saw a man by the roadside, pulled over and still,
Hat in hand, heart covered, a silent act of will.
His simple gesture, so respectful and true,
Touched our grieving hearts, brought tears anew.
Amidst the hustle of cars just passing by,
His honor stood tall under the open sky.
His license plate revealed his name, Ernest Boerlin, brave and grand,
A veteran of the US Navy, in service he did stand.
When we reached out to thank him, his words were sincere,
A brother in arms, offering comfort so dear.
“It was an honor to show respect for a fellow serviceman,” he said,
“Our prayers and condolences to you as you tread.
Fair winds and following seas, may God bless your way,
In this time of sorrow, I humbly pray.”
Ernest, your kindness did more than words can convey,
In our hearts and memories, your gesture will stay.
Thank you for your service, your honor so true,
May God's blessings and love always be with you.
Created by
MarkWaldrop
On Normandy's shores, where history was made,
Brave souls in the dawn's first light arrayed.
Eighty years have passed since that fateful day,
Yet their courage and sacrifice never fade away.
Let us remember those who stormed the beach,
Their valor and bravery beyond our reach.
But also the medics and chaplains who cared,
In the midst of chaos, they bravely dared.
With bandages, prayers, and comforting hands,
They brought hope and healing to war-torn lands.
Families of these heroes, in our hearts, you remain,
Your loved ones' service was not in vain.
We ask for prayers, for strength and grace,
For those who faced war's grim embrace.
May their legacy of kindness and love,
Shine down on us from the heavens above.
On this 80th year, we honor and pray,
For the medics and chaplains of that historic day.
Their selfless acts in the darkest of times,
Echo through the ages, in our hearts, they chime.
Created by
MarkWaldrop
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.
May 27, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
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.
May 27, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In skies of November, '44,
Major Milton Joel soared,
With valor in his heart,
And duty on his sword.
Above Bremen's fields of sorrow,
He flew to shield and fight,
Protecting bombers' wings,
In the deepening twilight.
His plane, a silent witness,
To courage in the sky,
Shot down in fierce combat,
Where brave souls often die.
His body never found,
Yet his spirit never fades,
Among the fallen heroes,
In honored, sacred glades.
Rest in peace, dear Major,
In the embrace of the stars,
With those who gave their all,
In freedom's noble wars.
American, English, French,
And countless nations more,
They paid the ultimate price,
In the tumult of war's roar.
May their sacrifice be honored,
Their memories held dear,
For in the hearts of nations,
Their legacy is clear.
Created by
MarkWaldrop
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.
April 13, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
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”