by Omer Zamir

Stomp of the step kept my father awake, years in the trenches, 
     drowning brethren, memories no death can take.
Innocence was at stake, boys became men, stomp of the step kept my 
     father awake.
For whose sake did he break? Their unwrinkled faces visit him again, 
     memories no death can take.

Their names drown not in the lake of time. They were his ken. Stomp 
     of the step kept my father awake.
Sleeping, he would stretch out his battered arms to embrace a mate. 
     He caressed the air, awoke in despair, shed tears I cannot pen.
Memories no death can take.

Old known jokes they alone could make. Youth has laughed its last. 
     He shudders all of a sudden. 
     Stomp of the step kept my father awake.
Memories no death can take.