Mr. Clyde

He sat, a small man with a twinkle,
white hair, and a few soft brown
memories which he turned for us
when we traipsed down the hill
to visit--college students, young
and strong on our errand of mercy,
so sure of foot.

He sat and recounted
his training officer and the navy recruits
who didn't know how to swim:
"Let 'em drown. Let 'em drown."
They didn't, of course.
He spoke of his wife
and his boy, and the problem
of the cattle, while he was away.
"Go ahead and sell them," he said.
But when he came home, his wife
and his boy had managed to keep the herd.
A world war and all those years,
but it was their victory he remembered.