Alone he stands among the windswept dunes,
his eyes, now dimmed, behold the sandy shore,
as he recalls those far off days, his youth,
when duty called in nineteen forty four.

How different then, no time to stand and stare,
with battle raging round, no time to pray,
for those he left behind, or those who fall,
but hope no harm will fall this longest day.

No children building castles in the sand,
or couples making plans for wedding days,
just shell and shot and sweat and bloody war,
with fear and death his only friends this day.

No longer springs his step, his back now bent,
the years their toll have taken, health now poor,
he sees it fresh and clear, on “Juno” beach,
at break of dawn, June, nineteen forty four.

And I a lad slept safe on Englands shore,
and never knew these men, their joy or sorrow,
who gave their youth, and all of their todays,
that I, at home, could sleep and grow tomorrow.