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The Long Watch
20 December 1942
You stand your post in eerie still, The night moves slowly on, Above the hill The moon is chill; You’re waiting for the dawn.
The plain below is lost in sleep, The sombre rocks are old, The snow is deep Where shadows creep And, somehow, very cold.
But in that endless time you stand ‘Tween midnight and the day You try your hand To understand Why war should come your way.
You think of Home, and what it meant To leave the ones you love; The song you sent When Holy Lent Proclaimed the World above.
You think of little things we know That make us what we are A guy named Joe, A movie show, Or working on your car.
At times it seems but yesterday That Mother’s cheeks were wet With tears that lay, And seemed to say, “My son, please don’t forget.”
Or then again it’s Father, who With voice so gruff and slow Was proud of you; It thrilled him through To see you turn and go.
This is that private history A man may not confide. But memory For company Will keep him warm . . . inside.
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