Written by Duane Leonidas Broxson

I was just a child
When my Uncle Jim died.
We heard about his ship
That sank off Salerno
On the old radio.
We all sat around and cried.

Granny hoped that he was saved
But the Telegram finally came.
Only five* were found alive,
One blown right over the side.
All the rest were doomed,
Expecially those in the engine room.

Isn't it strange about names?
I've known many Jims.
Jim Booth, Jim Thorp,
Jim this, Jim that.
But Uncle Jim, this Jim,
Was like you had said
Another name.
The emotion and feeling
All deep down inside,
It just wasn't really the same,
To my granny, almost a holy name.

Granny never stopped hoping
She would see him step
Through her door.
What a man that Jim.
I feel the emotion now.
As I sit and think about him.

I know that's why
They treated me such,
They said he loved me much,
And all of his love became mine.

And yes, there was Aunt Noreen,
His new bride we'd never seen,
Her grief was much,
And she came to visit us.

Years later on,
After she went home,
Back to Boston I think,
She wrote my granny
And wanter her graces
Over a man she was
About to marry.

What character,
Older times, older people,
In my memories of home
And much more,
Oh I which, how I wish
Like my granny before,
They would walk through my door.

*At the time of his death, the family was told that only five had survied,
later we learned that over a hundred had survived but this was a very small percent of all on board.

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© 2006 By Duane Leonidas Broxson... All rights reserved

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