Shit On A Shingle Poem by James Timothy Jarrett

It was a brief respite

From the hard work

And harsh horrors

Of the daily routine

It was the warm comfort of home

Steaming into the cold night

Wraiths of scent and flavor

Drifting through the enemy air

It was Shared 'round low fires

That reflected off the rolled wire

Glinting like stars in the darkness

Amid the raucous din of the mess tent

The clank of tin cups and mess pans

Replaced that of rolling treads

The rumbling death

That hunted down the small groups of men

Praying under the Aspen

Laughter, that medicine so rare

Played like wind through the camp

And peace for a moment was here

The food, always to be remembered

Was the only reminder

That they were still men

For a night

If only for a night

They could sleep

Dedicated to my Father Lee Roy Jarrett,359th Co. engineers U.S. Army,1941-1946