Merry Christmas, 1944
Marc J. Yacht
They marched and killed here
There were Germans, Americans, Allies
Civilian men, women and children
Their spirits float in the Ardennes.
Now tranquil, with little revelation
Of the human slaughter
Those men and machines
On the road to Bastogne.
Graveyards honor the dead
But the spirits remain
Among the ice and snow
Littered among the trees.
St. Vith, Malmedy
Tanks, propelled artillery
Jeeps, Half Tracks
Human fodder blown apart
lay frozen in the sleet.
A hopeless offensive
Known by the high command
Some call it Custer’s last stand
Yet men women and children, died.
Towns untouched through years of war
Flattened
Century old bridges destroyed
And the carnage continued.
The road to Bastogne
Spoiled by blood, lead, and steel
Now haunted woods
Where souls remain forever.
I walked those woods
In the Spring
The sun broke through
Unending cloudy skies.
But I felt the presence
Of those who more
Than half a century ago
Never left these woods.
Few remain but the tale is told
How one Christmas the gift of death
Laid many friends
And enemies to rest.