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I came across the following poem by John
Masefield which characterized the plight of the American Paratrooper so
succinctly
TOMORROW
Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily and deep,
The upland outlands ringed us in and herded us as sheep,
They drove us from the stricken field and bayed us unto keep;
But tomorrow,
By the living God! we'll try the game again!
Oh yesterday our little troop was ridden through and through,
Our swaying, tattered pennons fled, a broken, beaten few,
And all summer afternoon they hunted us and slew;
But tomorrow,
By the living God, we'll try the game again!
And here upon the turret-top the bale-fire glows red,
The wake lights burn and drip about our hacked, disfigured dead,
But tomorrow,
By the living God, we'll try the game again.
— John Masefield |
