By the calm sea
when he lay on his face
little did the little one know,
the world was at war.
He was amiss
to the glory of the sail
through no man's land.
And he believed in joy.
In the warmth
of his mother's beleaguered lap,
In peace
the unkempt growth
of his father's skinny beard
could award .
Even as he sank,
looking still for reasons to smile,
he was throwing bubbles up
as if in play with the sun.
As they dug a perfect pit
for his frozen pose
to eternally fit,
in some land he never belonged,
that son of man forbade glory
of the journey, sail or flight.
The story repeats,
for the child and his father
Be it on water, earth or the air.
