It was the eve of Thanksgiving <br />and a night black and cold as hell, <br />with a stiff north wind blowing <br />down across the barren slopes <br />of North Korea from Manchuria - <br /> <br />We didn't know it then <br />but the hills were alive with Chinese <br />hiding in ravines and valleys <br />biding their time in the subzero cold <br /> <br />We were hurtling down the road <br />in blissful ignorance and haste <br />to reach battalion in time <br />for dinner the next day <br /> <br />'Any port in a storm, ' <br />I shouted and turned the truck <br />onto a barely discernible path <br />in the snowy waste <br /> <br />I thought I heard a choir belting out <br />'when the saints go marching in' <br />full throttle as trumpets sounded <br />'O to be in that number on a sunlit shore! ' <br /> <br />Tent flaps parted and warm golden light <br />engulfed us as we swam through a haze <br />of spices and simmering sauces - <br />Hallejulah! Thanksgiving dinner!<br /><br />Michael Pruchnicki<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dark-stormy-night/
