Dead in the Dust

We the Few left, that lived through that day in December, can never forget.
You, the many that live, without that to remember, will probably Slumber,
To your ‘Eternal Chagrin.’
AMEN

Dead in the Dust
By Arley Steinhour 120717

December Seven, a ‘Very Special Day,’
When, my heart, and Life, was Changed,
Most will know, this day has its ‘Stay,’
‘When Pearl Harbor, was Bomb-Rearranged.’

That ‘Day, that lives in Infamy,’
When, so many young people died,
From Attack, by Japanese Enemy,
Some cheered, but, a ‘Great Many Cried.’

‘World War Two,’ being Two years old,
Brought the U S A into, the ‘Almost-World-Fray,’
Where all was lost, but for, the British-Bold,
Preventing, Hitler’s Blitzkrieg, from having its Way.

Twas, Sunday morning, fresh home from Church,
With Jesus, in hearts, we sought Christian Station,
To cheer, even more, at our Favorite Sunday Search,
The Announcement came, that changed our Nation.

The ‘Elder, of Americans,’ know well, the Story,
Of the Sacrifice of Life, and Possessions, to Fight,
Sending Troops, East and West, to War, so Gory,
WAR, against Japan, and Germany, Was Right.

I now shift my gear, to a different Persuasion,
On that ‘Day of War,’ Brother, Ronnie, turned ‘One,’
Sister Jody was Five, I be Three, without Reservation,
Peace, and Safety of America, was ‘Swiftly Undone.’

Instead of cooking, the women were wailing,
Grandpa did a thing, rarely done, ‘HE CURSED,’
Though we were young, we knew of a Failing,
That would haunt our lives, with ‘Dead in the Dust.’

Brother Ronnie, I think, didn’t quite understand,
(As, he still wore diapers, Where he would ‘Poo,’)
Sister, and maybe me, understood Grandmas Command,
That, ‘We Help, all we can, till this War was Through.’

Later, we celebrated Ronnie’s First Birthday,
Chocolate cake, it be, with Fudge on the Crown,
With Ice-cream as Side, Home Churned, Grandpa’s Way,
With celebrating like that, I turned into a Clown.

We tried to forget, the Pain, for a while,
To focus on Festivities, sadly mixed with Tears,
So, my little Brother, might show a Smile,
To give him a head start, on his ‘God-Blessed-Years.’

We’d only been with Grandparents a short time,
But we (original three), soon knew we were Home,
Parents had moved on, searching a life that’d Rhyme,
Produced, Sixteen more Sibling, to fill our ‘Family Tome.’

There’s more to the story, but December Seven, the Subject,
Growing into War, and becoming beginning of Family Demise,
As, Sixty-Five-Million Died, War opened the ‘Pandora-Box,’
Since then, many events, like ‘Abortion,’ comes as no Surprise.

We, born before Nineteen-Forty, are the Last of ‘Dinosaur’ Variety,
To Fill, Generation age of Eighty, the ‘Last Generation,’ unto ‘Tribulation;’
The Falling Away, ‘Demanded Equality,’ now, ‘all’ believe in ‘Venality,’

And of the Reborn, we’ll be the Last Rewarded for our Oblation.
I’ll leave it at that, for today, with much more to say.

AMEN