I found my home, where it left me. On a boat, towards the sands of time. Forty one in ’43, no wife no kids no care. Surrounded by children, and their reasons, a view that I did not share. Would you visit hell? Was there no other choice. Could you visit hell? For country, For Family, They gave their lives. Maybe it was me, who was the child? Maybe my scars lied. Was this a glimmer of hope, in my eye? Or a momentary shift, in strides. I caught on as the time past by. More than somebody’s kid dying.