A poem from my grandfather.

(This is transcribed exactly as it appears on a tattered, tobacco-stained paper.)

March 30 / 1944

Anzio (Italy)

=================

Tho just a narrow strip of land,
of mud and wood, with beach of sand,
there never was more hated ground
than here at Anzio we've found.

We hate and curse the rotten place
and pray that God would speed our pace
to bring the enemy to trial
for all his deeds so base and vile.

Our comrades, now asleep in death
would cheer if they had life and breath
oe'r the shell pocked lines we go
to bring the battle to the foe.

Tho some have died, and many more
will pass from here through heavens door
the victory will soon be won
and clouds of war will turn to sun.

Our comrade in his hallowed grave
a hero for the life he gave
will not be with us as we go
victorious from Anzio.

Tho they are here and we are home
it's oft' to them our thoughts will roam.
We'll know they haven't died in vain
their lives were given for freedoms gain.
===========================================

S/ Sgt. George Goldfuss

45th Div. Co. h 179th Inf.