The Whispering Water
A poem by Bill Ward
A poem of World War II
Whispering water,
Cries out and moans.
"Boy's, we're here."
Shouts the captain's roar,
And we know.
Soldiers to storm,
Beaches to win,
"After this wave boys."
I can't think straight.
Do I know how to swim?
Heart is pumping,
Beating fast.
"Let down the gates!"
The time to charge,
Has come at last.
The waiting is over.
D-day is here.
"Meet you on the beach."
Rushing forward, I think,
Will we make it there?
As we jump off,
The bullets whiz by.
"Were almost there!"
I know the only way to live,
Is to follow the captain's cry!
Shouting and struggling,
I make it ashore.
Who's in charge here?
Silence, then,
"You are sir."
We have to win,
This beach will be ours.
"Grab those mortars."
Then I run over there,
MY men number four.
Where are the mortars?
I only see for men.
"Make up a mirror!"
The wall saves me, but
I must see around the bend.
The mortars arrived,
Load them up good quick.
"Snipe out the gunners!"
I shoot one myself.
We're in quite a fix.
The mortar shot worked!
One bunker down.
"Take the next bunker."
We repeat the events,
Work our way around.
We're down to the last,
Final bunker let's go!
"Come on boys!"
We rush to the scene,
Time moves so slow.
We've got grenades,
Flame throwers too.
"Smoke 'em out now."
The first grenade is thrown,
This bunker is done soon.
The Nazi's rush out.
Met by our flame.
"Get ready again boys."
Flaring the building,
Now the sound of the plane.
The planes are screeching,
They fly overhead.
"Take cover now!"
We roll and duck,
We cover our heads.
The bomb is dropped down.
The napalm sets fire.
"Let them burn!"
We watch in evil glee,
Even in danger so dire.
The last bunker gone.
Is it time to go home?
"Let fix this mess."
MY men set off,
On the blood they roam.
Then as we pick up,
The arms of comrades,
"It's ok boys."
Our hearts are downcast,
Our lives little, and sad.
The water was red,
Blood of fish and men.
"The next task is Germany."
If this is so bad,
In real battle what then?
We comb the beaches,
Looking for dead.
"The day's over."
We go to our beds.
The life less limp,
The hidden tear.
"Good job."
All left is,
Whispering water.