syscom3
Pacific Historian
I saw this poem on the US 6th armored division website.
Alzheimer's Cure
Sometimes at night he crawled up the hall.
He wasn't playing a game at all.
He was living again once more
Those fearful days of '44,
Fighting again the Second World War.
No, he wasn't playing a game at all,
Those mysterious times he crawled up the hall.
That's what Alzheimer's does to the brain…
Things are real—the fear and the pain.
It was real to him, the shrapnel flying
With buddies all around him dying,
And valiant men reduced to crying.
That's what Alzheimer's does to the brain…
It's real again—the fear and the pain.
Alzheimer's, sadly, has no cure.
Victim and family must just endure.
But those who have made Christ their choice
Will at last one day rejoice
In Heaven with a healthy voice.
While Alzheimer's here has no cure,
Alzheimer's isn't in Heaven—that's sure1!
By Pat Lennon
September 26, 2006
(dedicated to the memory of her husband, Horace,
who crawled up the hall one night at Pendleton
Manor, while warning his buddies to stay back)
Alzheimer's Cure
Sometimes at night he crawled up the hall.
He wasn't playing a game at all.
He was living again once more
Those fearful days of '44,
Fighting again the Second World War.
No, he wasn't playing a game at all,
Those mysterious times he crawled up the hall.
That's what Alzheimer's does to the brain…
Things are real—the fear and the pain.
It was real to him, the shrapnel flying
With buddies all around him dying,
And valiant men reduced to crying.
That's what Alzheimer's does to the brain…
It's real again—the fear and the pain.
Alzheimer's, sadly, has no cure.
Victim and family must just endure.
But those who have made Christ their choice
Will at last one day rejoice
In Heaven with a healthy voice.
While Alzheimer's here has no cure,
Alzheimer's isn't in Heaven—that's sure1!
By Pat Lennon
September 26, 2006
(dedicated to the memory of her husband, Horace,
who crawled up the hall one night at Pendleton
Manor, while warning his buddies to stay back)