To the Editor:

While we celebrate Memorial Day this weekend, this poem might add some perspective. It was written (or copied, I am not sure) by a soldier in the field long ago. I found it in an equally old "Letter to Home". Please excuse the Grammar.

As we see the current US politics play out across the world, every country in Europe can feel happy to be speaking their native language thanks to folks like this.

A Soldier’s poem serving in Europe July 1944:

We climb the mountain, which some people may say,

Are impossible to climb, but we climb it anyway,

We carry our pack and rations as well,

We carry our rifle and plenty of shells.

We climb those mountains tired and weak,

But we knew what we were after-

And that was liberty.

We dug out the enemy from dugouts so deep,

That they built enough beds for 12 men to sleep.

We listened to the artillery which sang over our heads,

To shake up the enemies which were so cozy in their beds.

We waited for the orders to go ahead,

And then we met the enemy that were so cozy in those beds.

We met the enemy thin, and thick,

But our minds were made up; we couldn't be licked.

We chased the enemy night and day,

Through towns and cities that were once so far away.

They stole buses, and donkeys and horses, too,

And any other transportation because they knew

We were coming through.

We marched over mountains and sometimes roads,

Then someone would ask us where we were going.

It was easy to answer, because our answer was always Rome.

When we reached the enemy at that Hitler line,

We knew it was going to be tough, but we didn't have time to mind.

We hit them hard with everything we had,

And made sure the enemy would never be back.

It wasn't so easy, as you already know,

But we fought all the harder, and finally marched into Rome.

Now- if anyone asks us where we are going,

We'll tell them Berlin, and from there we're going home!

Pfc. Clifford Leuthauser

Then age 19