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The Path We Choose
A Soldier's Integrity
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A Red Rose
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A Silent Night
A heavy film of dust has gathered on the worn
and warped shelf next to the little window,
covered by faded yellow curtain lace.
Years have passed and the thorns on
a single naked stem is all that remains
of a rose, that once brightened this small
room from its ornate purple vase.
The faded handmade, patched quilt lies wrinkle
free on the tiny bed where once he slept and
dreamed of teddy bears, swings, kites, cotton
candy and other childhood things.
Many yesterdays ago, that little room vibrated with
laughter, love and life. Now it stands silent and cold,
thanks to the steel blade of a murderer's knife.
Time stopped here in this room on Christmas
Eve of Nineteen Forty Three. To this day, no one
knows who or why they killed little Billy this way.
But its been said; that on Christmas Eve, if you
listen close you can hear little Billy singing
"Silent Night" and through the window
in his little room see a glowing light.
Jackie R. Kays
Note: I was ten years old in 1943 when the incident occurred.
They never did find out who or why someone killed little five
year old Billy.
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