Oosterbeek 1944

Oh my brave young companions, we who knew no fear,
Who descended from the sky,
on a scrap of silk yet still held life so dear
Yet took life, and in so doing sinned and sinned again

Now hoary, lined with age, we wait to die, full knowing,
full dreading, yet with some eagerness
for we who survived, life has lost much meaning

On cold grey stone your names live on
Shrill bugles sound your glory,
Glib tongues speak of your sacrifice, but we who know stand silent
with grim and stony face

For we remember your youth and beauty,
the pleasure and love of your smiling face
Not for us the thoughts of worms and bones
All of youth and beauty, for in youth is beauty
 and your eternal silent grace

Oh those blue warm African days when like young Gods,
silkborne through those blue skies, thoughts only of the day,
drifting from cloud to cloud, with no thought of tomorrow
Through Sicily and Italy we drifted,
like young Gods we sported , laughing, carefree, gay,
and Italy where we landed we left our mark
and people wonder to this day.

Then those grey cold waiting days in that ancient island fortress
Hopes buoyed, hopes dashed,  a long grey waiting, without tenderness
Then at last our orders, back to the sky again, joyfully we flew
like thistledown, into the wild blue
Then we descended each man to his fate,
 you to the cold damp polder and mine to wait.

Repose then in the grandeur of your deeds,
repose untouched from life's regrets,
Repose in that deep and eternal sleep,
that I evoke in my sad thoughts

P. Hyatt
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The Weeping Beeches of Sonnenberg

Ankle deep in old dead leaves
I strode among the stately beech trees of this old battlefield,
anguish in my heart
I wept for long dead comrades, I wept for the peace and silence
In these dark woods where trees,
like my soul, are scarred and pitted with old wounds

The melancholy anguish I have carried these many years
Those boys I killed (shall I ever be forgiven?)
I see those boys every walking day, the grey green uniforms,
their white marble dead faces
People say "Why do you grieve, they would have killed first"
Would that I had been killed first, than bequeathed with a life of guilt

Those questions I put to the trees, they answer, Why do you grieve so?
Did you not leave us shattered, torn and broken,
swathes of destruction left through us
But look at us now, look well my friend for we are regrown and reborn,
look closer, see we still carry scars

Mute and silent I ponder this
Closer I looked and noticed the trees were weeping,
they wept for joy.
Small nodules each with a tear duct I noticed everywhere,
each nodule a piece of shrapnel ejected and rejected
As they rejected they wept for joy, reaching up to the sky
and joyfully rejecting the iron from the soul.

And so the trees have repaired, regrown,
deep and lovely are the groves of weeping beeches of Sonnenberg
Silently I sat among the tranquil peace,
my sad heart starting to rejoice for the reborn trees
I said to the trees is it possible for me to reject  my sins and stretch my arms up to the glory of the sun

Anything is possible if you believe, said the trees,
do not live in the past, walk out into the sunlight,
Shed your skin and all your doubts and guilt leave behind among the leaves, as we have done

Oh trees, I said, oh lovely trees, this I will do
Out I walked into the sunlight, across the lovely park and down to the river
And as I walked I felt my anguish, my guilts, my fears,
that I had nourished all these long years, disappear

When I reached the river I looked behind and rejoiced at the sight of those lovely weeping beeches of Sonnenberg

P. Hyatt
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