I rarely speak, I rarely shout,
Yet my thoughts are in a roar.
Drowning out cool rationale,
Drowning out the sound of war.
French is said to be love's language,
And I feel tongue tied.
When I reflect on when I met you,
When I fell out from the sky.
The transport plane felt heavy,
But my body felt light.
As I made my way through France,
In summer's warm night.
How can I explain how I felt,
When we allied once more?
Working with the OSS,
In the Second World War?
How can I stay focussed,
When my thoughts return to you?
What will the West's future hold,
Will we both see this war through?
Someday those questions will be answered,
They won't be answered now.
I'll just keep in mind your smile,
And endure conflict oh so foul.