A letter written during World War II by a father to his soldier son:

Dear Son,

I wish I had the power to write
The thoughts wedged in my heart tonight
As I sit watching that small star
And wondering where and how you are.

You know, Son, it's a funny thing
How close a war can really bring
A father, who for years with pride,
Has kept emotions deep inside.

I'm sorry, Son, when you were small
I let reserve build up that wall;
I told you real men never cried,
And it was Mom who always dried

Your tears and smoothed your hurts away
So that you soon went back to play.
But, Son, deep down within my heart
I longed to have some little part

In drying that small tear-stained face,
But we were men—men don't embrace.
And suddenly I found my son
A full-grown man, with childhood done.

Tonight you're far across the sea,
Fighting a way for men like me.
Well, somehow pride and what is right
Have changed places here tonight

I find my eyes won't stay quite dry
And that men sometimes really cry.
And if we stood here, face to face,
I'm sure, my Son, we would embrace.