Yesterday, I shared a poem I wrote for our newborn grandson, Vincent Page Cazzetta, and the story behind his name.
That story led us back through an old family scrapbook. Tucked among those pages was a poem carried by his great-grandfather, Vincent Charles Cazzetta. It was written as a conversation with God.
We don’t know for certain that he wrote it himself.
Based on the period, the handwriting, and what we’ve been able to research, we believe it was his. What we do know is that he carried it with him.
Eighty-one years ago, on December 16, 1944, Vincent Charles was nineteen years old, in uniform, in Belgium, waiting for the Battle of the Bulge to begin.
Today, I’m sharing that poem.
From the foxhole.
Conversation
God, I have never spoken to You
But now I want to say, “How do You do?”
You see, God, they told me You didn’t exist,
And like a fool – I believed all of this.
Last night from a shell hole I saw Your sky
I figured right then they had told me a lie.
Had I taken time to see the things You made,
I’d known they weren’t calling a spade a spade.
I wonder, God, if You’d shake my hand,
Somehow – I feel that You will understand.
Funny – I had to come to this hellish place
Before I had the time to see Your face.
Well, I guess there isn’t much more to say,
But I’m sure glad, God, I met You today.
I guess the zero hour will soon be here,
But I’m not afraid since I know You’re near.
The signal-well, God – I’ll have to go.
I like You lots – this I want You to know.
Look, now – this will be a horrible fight.
Who knows – I may come to Your house tonight.
Though I wasn’t friendly with You before,
I wonder, God, if You’d wait at Your door-
Look – I’m crying! Me-shedding tears!
I wish I’d known You these many years.
Well, I will have to go now, God-good-bye.
Strange, since I met You – I’m not afraid to die.
