Barely Over Sweet Sixteen Poem by Vincent Tran

Barely over sweet sixteen—
Just yesterday puffing the cake's candles
But two years later, barely over sixteen
The age of those who never came home.

They died far from the arms that loved them,
far from the quiet fields and small towns of America.

They died in frozen foreign lands,
So I can gather around the dinner table.

They fell in the muddy sands of Normandy,
beneath jungles thick with palm and bamboo,
across deserts burning by day and bitter cold by night.

They died far from the homeland,
so that America can endure.

Barely over sweet sixteen,
their laughter faded before it had fully grown,
their dreams surrendered to the silence of war.

They left behind mothers and fathers,
sweethearts who waited,
friends who never stopped remembering.

Because they stood where fear was greatest,
So I can know the comfort of home,
So I can know the warmth of a shared meal
So I can know the laughter of summer days,
and the quiet awaking beneath a peaceful azure sky.

May I not forget
that the life I cherish was simply secured by lives so heartbreakingly young —

barely over sweet sixteen,
yet brave enough to give everything
for the country they loved,
for people they would never get to fully love.