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Array
(
[sid] => 129830
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Omaha Beach
[time] => 2006-12-27 00:28:42
[hometext] => I wrote this about my grandfather, who was a career military man.
[bodytext] => The time covered house had grass to the sills Work he laid down as a man Instead of a shredded curtain of life They ground down to dust from the sand Of Omaha Beach and the red water tide Burns marks on each of his hands He talked about it once like I didn't know why There were scars on each of his shins Under a better days sun he worked till she called him in Still youth in his laugh and that poor man's smile Before he learned what gunpowder could do to your skin And some look at pictures and say he's just a kid But kids can cry And he never did He hid the shake in his hands like I didn't know why His medals were in a box in the shed The lucky ones went home to have these medals to loath Have all these bullet-holed feelings they never can show I know he remembered the men he'd always called friends Remembered how to the right and the left they fell like coke cans And the rest of his life his voice had this tone Like no matter how much he'd talk you'd never quite know And so I'll be his grandson to write him bad poems Because I remember the good side he saved just for me And I remember the squeek of the metal they put in his knee The life that he lost That day on the beach [comments] => 3 [counter] => 226 [topic] => 55 [informant] => ArezzoSunrise [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => dedicatedpoems )
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