Faye Sizemore

DRIFTING

Foggy evenings…
mists rising over the mountains
… floating in streaks through the valleys…
winding through the hills of home
Beauty… breathtaking and painful
How I love… oh, how I love my home…

Far away is a man… alone in a cell
He loved his home too… and fought for it well…
until he was taken captive and interred in Hell
Find him… please… dead or alive… bring him home
Sons of America lost in a foreign land… not here
No beautiful foggy evenings… just nights of fear…

Foggy evenings…
Day is done… lazy moon rising…
His wailing harmonia is sweet upon my ear…
The music drifts with the foggy mists…
All should be restful and tranquil cheer
but yet… there are those who are not here