Hero Worship

He lay still in his sharp blue suit.

The military in dress colors offered a salute.

On a white starched shirt neatly rested a patriot’s tie.

His youth an eternity ago told of the cost of freedom he’d buy.

My dad, a hero of D-Day, showed me medals of the heart.

But he held back the pain in a lifetime where youth and age drift apart.

He’s another soldier whose story one might choose to gauge.

Dad has become one of many for history’s page.

 

Capture the soul of a man in words of a eulogy.

How he danced and sang, despite a painful fee.

His wounds of war were not only of the flesh,

But of the soul and the breath and how these things mesh.

My dad, a hero of D-Day fought so I could live free.

He didn’t know then what I would be.

He’s another soldier whose life melded without rage.

Dad returned home and thus began a new page.

 

Generosity’s bounds are the subject of my words.

He gave one-hundred dollar bills; money flew like birds.

He looked as peaceful as ever resting from his travels.

Nothing more he could give, all worries had finally unraveled.

My dad, a hero of D-Day, hadn’t chased recognition, nor sought.

He merely asked for a quiet life, peace is what he taught.

He’s another soldier whose memories have faded.

Only pictures remain, his thoughts no longer raided.

 

Behind are the children, the grandchildren, and wife.

A widow longs to once more share a life.

Thoughts of him through time swirl and spin around.

Childhood, teenage years, and adulthood are all within the bounds.

My dad, a hero of D-Day, is the first thing I’ll say.

He did so much in 90 years, and as I end I’ll pray.

Sid Cohen was another soldier whose life was worth everything.

To worship a hero, one can truly sing.

 

By Stew Cohen

November 2014