The tide comes in-
the billows collapse
like exhausted soldiers
pushing their bodies
onto Omaha Beach.
The briny froth saturating
field jackets now heavy
as the gear carried
on backs of young men
so far from home.
The current drags them in,
lines of weary warriors
coming to face their final
battle on a foreign shore;
their first trip, the last.
Their lives punctured
by sniper fire from other
boys up the sandy bluff.
The tide goes out-
the world is never the same.
~Rae
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Lovely poem , Rae. They were the greatest generation.