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Rated: E · Poetry · History · #2309744
I wrote this while pondering Pearl Harbor Day over coffee at a local restaurant recently.

Pearl In December

In the year nineteen hundred and forty-one,
the isles were bathed in tranquil dawn
as the still-waking crews of the U.S. brawn
were beset by attack of the Rising Sun.

While the talks were in progress against a war
and the hope was alive that the peace would hold,
from the skies came destruction and death like rain.
The attack was an infamous act, and cold.

As the bombs rained to earth and the people screamed
in confusion and fear at the sneak attack,
ev'ry airman was scrambled; all sailors fell to.
There was never a Sunday that rose so black!

I regret to inform, many lives were lost.
Though the ships and the planes were important tools,
the American lives paid the highest cost,
and those martyrs for freedom are precious jew'ls!

I have never seen glory in war and death,
for it's life we should celebrate instead,
but it's noble to fight to defend the weak,
and it's just we remember the honored dead.

So, the greatest respect we can pay the fall'n
is to lift up the cause for the which they fought,
and to cherish the freedom; the peace preserve
which the dutiful brave with their deaths have bought.

Shawn C. Bailey 2023 December 03 12:43:29 P.M. ET
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