Written by bill blau   

My friend Mike, who was raised with me in the orphan home, died last year. He sent me this poem he wrote before he died. Those who speak of war as a heroic venture, or falsely claim it makes life better and safer for all, have never suffered the horrors, paid the price. Between spring of 1943 when I went in, and the time I came out, I never heard the term "hero" or a lust for war expressed. We only lived for "when the war ends", and when we could "come home". When will our country come "home"? --Bill

I REMEMBER
By Myron Swack, Ph.D. 106th Division, Bulge/Berga Survivor

I am sad on every Veteran's Day.
I remember the horror of war,
I remember being on the front line.
It was the coldest winter in the Ardennes Mountains in 1944-45.
I remember the high casualty rate.
War is an ugly, ugly scene.
It begins ugly and it gets worse.
I remember losing my closest friends
And seeing their bodies.
I remember how hungry I was and
How cold my feet were.
I remember being captured by the Germans.
I remember being taken by cattle car to prison camp.
I remember the hell of being a prisoner.
I remember escaping and sneaking through
Germany back to the American lines.
I remember the ambulance and the hospital.

I REMEMBER COMING HOME!