Image courtesy of Pacific Paratrooper
I Said I’d Be Home For Christmas
I heard it before I saw it,
an ancient sound,
a single engine piper,
that was in descent to the frozen field,
then I saw it,
it yawed to one side as it hit the snow,
and corrected to a fine halt.
Some old guy clambered out,
a picture of an era gone,
leather bomber jacket
straight out of 42.
My mother holding the door frame,
they threw themselves at each other
with sobs and kisses,
the long silence punctuated with:
but I said I’d be home for Christmas,
Honey, she said,
its ten years gone,
Well, he said,
a promise is a promise.
©Paul Vincent Cannon