Snow, I consider you on these Ardennes hills
And imagine I'm home in the hills of Pennsylvania
Dad and I tracked deer through crisp, cold snow like this,
Saw the stories of countless animals recorded there,
Tiny field mice, cottontail rabbits, and once in a while, a bear,
Their footprints clearly caught in the white earth-cover.

Here there is no time to look at animal tracks.
Here, with frigid hearts, we are tracking men.

          It is Christmas Eve. Ethereal snow reflects
The warm glow of Christmas lights at home in Pennsylvania.
Pure white snow descends on the Nativity in the town square.
Through the frosty air church bells chime.
For the young, frolicking in the flurries, skiing, sledding,
There waits a warm fire to take the sting from their feet.

But families, though cozy by the fireplace,
Face an empty chair.

          Snow is falling in Belgium, too.
Here on the battlefield it is bitter.
There are no crackling fires to warm us,
No warm glow of Christmas to thaw our hearts.
Cold snow pierces the very soul and turns us all to icicles.

I can no longer hear my heart; I can no longer feel my hands and feet.
But I hold my machine-gun And I keep firing until--

          Snow, fall on me gently.
Put out the cruel fire in my chest;
Numb all my worldly pain.
Cover my black hair with hoarfrost
For these moments are the span of my old age,
Twenty-one years the extent of my existence.
Snow, my pale cold shroud, be a merciful blanket.
Fall on me gently.
 

Written in loving memory of
THOMAS L. ROCKWELL
2nd. Lt. 82nd. Airborne
Born May 14, 1923 - Died Dec. 24, 1944

By - Priscilla Rockwell Sherman - Sister