JUNE OF ’43

And so into the harbor
We sailed our ships
Coming to rest and anchor
At the foot of the cloud white cliffs

I raised my torch and called out
And hearing no sound more
We dragged our boats up from the sea
Onto that ragged shore

There was nothing left when we arrived
In that barren land
Save for an abandoned village
At the east end of the strand

And the fields about were scarred
This village in disarray
The doors of the church were charred
And torn off part way

I sifted through the rubble
And the debris
Hoping to find some precious thing
To carry back with me

And there I spied a photograph
Of an old man who was blind
Led by smiling peasant girl
With a mule walking behind

And on the back was written
In a script like filigree
The last we saw grandfather
In June of ‘43

‘Twas then the air quickened
And I knew myself observed
By some kind of spirit
That these lost souls did serve

And in that very instant
I saw I’d profaned
Seeking in this place of woe
But profit and gain

And something drove me backwards
Along the blighted lane
I wondered if my mind was gone
Or if I was insane

I called to me my comrades
Who each believing my tale
In great fear accordingly
Prepared to set sail

I raised my torch and looked ‘round
As no pursuer did I see
We dragged our ships back down that shore
Into the writhing sea

And the eyes of the dead were on us
At our backs we felt their curse
As we launched our ships once more
Into the silver surf

And none there dared look backwards
Remembering Lot’s wife
We trimmed the sails and tacked north
Having escaped with our lives