My brother Bob brought to me a gift that means so very much,

Little does he know one of my fears of family is to lose touch,

He brought a book to me with Catholic prayers from a war,

To hear his voice and laugh in person meant so much more,

Bob know this please I’ve placed it near my other family treasure,

A photograph of Patti and Daddy’s work ID that I keep secure,

Each time I see the book I’ll remember the one dad gave me,

It disappeared in wars fury but somehow I avoided tragedy,

The gun I fired from a patrol boats nose was the caliber he carried,

It was by chance the same weapon, not something that I wanted,

Yet I am amazed he carried that 50 caliber machine everywhere,

It’s hard to imagine his strength to carry the load he had to bear,

Most don’t survive that task, he simply credits prayer from a book,

Many weren’t able to carry the machine, think of the fortitude it took,

The weight of the gun plus ammunition says a lot about his strength,

To accomplish a most needed goal my father would go to any length,

I thought of him often as bullets echoed and spray came flying by,

Praying to gain his strength and determination to fight, not to die,

Twice my father presented a prayer book to me much to my surprise,

It wasn’t that I thought he didn’t believe but he was secretly folk wise,

An error of youth because I didn’t pay attention to his daily deeds,

He silently endured through illness for love of the children he feeds,

Each Sunday he went to Mass and quietly entered the confessional,

I wondered what sin is committed by this man that gave me a missal,

The small pocket missal meant more to me than anyone can know,

I’d carry it everywhere because it was given me by daddy to show,

That he loved me and was truly worried about where I had to go,

I kept it with me always along with a photo of the girl I loved so,

War is hell, a place where the youngest of men lose youth or life,

Unless you have been there it is impossible to understand the strife,

My second time to that horrible place found me doing awful things,

I became so filled with the guilt that doing those awful things brings,

After a completed mission of which I was the only man to return,

I fled as hard as I could for miles until my lungs began to burn,

Extraction wouldn’t come unless I made the rendezvous on time,

I heard the Huey’s roar as it was lifting to leave another man behind,

But for the keen eye of the pilot and prayers I screamed out load,

I would be lost forever and be another fatality on wars bloody road,

As they pulled me up I felt my book fall, desperately I tried to jump out,

Touching down would jeopardize all, that’s not what the book is about,

I actually cried because of what that tiny book had meant to me,

It didn’t matter in war, men often cried out loud for everyone to see,

So many things ran through my mind as I finally realized it all,

I’d survived what I was not trained for and through prayer I didn’t fall,

I’ve got many secrets I will never reveal regarding things I’ve done,

Memories I’ve tried to forget but that day of desperation is not one,

Men hold many things dear in war from letters to photos and more,

A soldier died holding his teddy bear asking what we’re fighting for,

Those memories returned to me but I want all to know its okay,

I like thinking of my pocket prayer book although I lost it that day,

Miracles of war occur at times when you don’t expect a thing,

People need to be aware of miracles and what they can bring,

I have a trunk that had remained locked for twenty years or more,

Daddy gave it to me before I left home to soon go off to war,

Twenty years ago I opened my trunk to find my prayer book there,

I have no doubt my daddy’s spirit put it there with love and care,

At that time I needed blessings to bring back what illness took,

Was it a miracle I could work again, brought by Daddy’s little book?

Gratefully I gave thanks for the miracle that prayer and love brought,

But from that trunk it disappeared or was it placed where I forgot,

So Bobby I hope you now understand why the words didn’t come,

To be honest if I said a lot, I would have cried in front of everyone,

The tiniest thoughtful deeds are sometimes the greatest gift given,

A little book of prayer passed on may be another’s ticket to heaven.

The end, by Pat