(Reprint from group of issues lost in the '99 domain crash.)

Holding bright promises like cards in their hands,
The ocean swept them in upon the golden sands,
And children of soldiers are soldiers too,
Their lives regimented, their loyalty due . . .
A life of vigilance, freely borne,
And living within countries still war-torn,
Forming allegiance with those other 'brats,'
Trading "places" and nicknames like 'little rug rats,'
Though never admitting of Father they're proud,
Yet gazing with defiance when the "go-homes" are loud.
Now, meeting each other in a world far removed,
Wondering together what everything proved,
But sharing invisibly, indivisibly, a truth,
That no one else can unless also a youth
Who traveled the bases in family spaces,
The 'sad' their memory traces, their unity erases,
And bad times and good times
And all the in between times
Are swallowed up in dream times
Among those in the now times.

copyright.Mary E. Adair 3/27/98