One day at the end of an Honor Flight I stood in the midst of a crowd, As I saw a man in battle dress Who stood so straight and proud.
He passed through that group of ancient vets In search of those honored few Who’d stormed the shores at Normandy In the carnage of World War II.
And when he would find a well-worn man Who had tackled that gruesome chore, He’d give him a packet of sand he’d brought From that once embattled shore.
The sand that, years ago, was stained With the blood of valiant men Who fought and died for their country’s flag In a world so threatened back then.
And the sand that he passed out there that day Had seen fifty thousand tides That washed those beaches of blood and gore Where now you may visit with guides.
And I noticed a man who took that sand With a withered and trembling hand, And I sensed his thoughts as his mind went back To that far and distant land.
For a moment he’s back on the shores of France Where wounded in battle he lies, And I saw in his face the pain and a trace Of sorrowful tears in his eyes.
Then I shook the hand of that war torn man And thanked him from deep in my heart For the sacrifice that he made for me That day while doing his part.
Then he placed in my hand that packet of sand And said when his tears were through, “My time on this Earth is almost up, So I’m giving this sand to you.”
“Don’t put it aside in a box someplace Where it will stay hidden away, ‘Til it’s found in some attic and then thrown out Some distant and future day.”
So I added that sand to an old hour glass That I keep on the desk in my den To honor the battle on Normandy beaches And soldiers who fought back then.
And now when I turn that old hour glass And watch the sand as it pours, There’s an extra minute of time in that hour That I think of those Normandy shores.