My grandmother is writing a memoir, we talked today for a while and there are a few lines:
When my grandmother was small,
She thought her parents didn't love her much at all.
Because she was a girl.
And her brother could do what he wanted,
They would fight and mother was always on the brother's side:
He is a boy, he is right.
Then the Second World War started.
Her three uncles and two aunts went the very first day,
Summer, was summer again...
In less than a months papers: you will never see them at all.
Now, winter, her brother turn, he was almost eighteen years old.
All the young girl knew, she wants him back home and there is no chance if he wouldn't be back.
When many people gave up, when mothers stopped to believe and wait,
All she repeated: we will win, he will be back.
It was not two counties war any more,
It was her war too.
And guess how won?
An old agly witch war or
A beautiful young girl?
The girl who could see the places she had never been,
Who could see faces, who could feel,
Who could stop a machine gun,
And change the direction of an enemy tank.
The girl who stood up against the war and said only one time:
"He is mine, don't even try".
From an old village far away,
She brought her brother home back.
Everyone was surprised,
Who can go to the war and never be touched once?
He has medals, he is parents pride.
They did not know,
The sister wanted her brother only to be alive,
More than anything in the world.
It wasn't important if they will ever fight or
Who love who more.
She wanted him be at home.
