The Poems of Frank J. Wawrynovic

Posted by on Feb 23, 2014 in D-Day Poetry

The Poems of Frank J. Wawrynovic
Sergeant, Company C, First Battalion, 115th Regiment, 29th Division
Purple Heart, Bronze Star, Clearfield, PA, 1917-2005

Sergeant Frank J. Wawrynovic landed on Omaha Brach on D-Day with C Company of the First Battalion, 115th Regiment, 29th Division.  On June 17, he was wounded while scouting ahead of the American line in an orchard near the Norman city of St. Lô.  He was evacuated, hospitalized for nearly two years, and discharged with a medical disability.  After the war he returned to school and had a successful business career.  Over the years he and his wife, Stella, gave very generous support to a variety of charities and non-profit organizations, including Normandy Allies.  Many years after the war, his thoughts returned to that episode, leading him to write the poems shown below.  He died in 2005, and his wife followed him in 2013.  For a more complete account of their lives, see the article, here.

I must return

I must go back to Normandy

to look out upon the sea,

Where once a great armada

carried troops, including me.


I must go back to Omaha

to walk along the shore,

and let my mind go back in time

to when there was a war.


When I go back I know I’ll mourn,

and shed some tears and feel the pain.

But I must go back and reminisce,

and think, and pray for those who there remain.


For they, too, were out upon that sea,

and then they died in Normandy.

Now from their graves above the shore,

they’ll keep their watch out on that sea, forever more.


I must go back to Normandy,

and, with them, once more,

look out upon that sea.

I honor them

How quiet now, the battlefields.

Not now the sounds of war.

But lying there beneath the ground

are those who hear the canon roar.

They rest in peace, their duties done.

I honor them, every one.

Bloody Omaha

Omaha, bloodiest of all the beaches,

I knew you when the blood was shed,

I heard the wounded cry in pain,

I also saw the many dead.


Omaha, bloodiest of all the beaches,

didn’t you hear the mothers weep?

The tides have washed away the blood of sons who died there.

Now the mothers’ tears lie forever wet upon your sands.


Omaha, I also weep.

Only death will take your memory from my mind.


Young men, long gone before their time.

No more to know the warmth of a woman’s love,

or to hear the laughter of child.

No more to see the beauty of the land,

or that of the skies above.

No more to dream of days to be,

or to enjoy the pleasures that life can bring.

Young men, so great your sacrifice.

Wounded Soldiers

Wounded soldiers, so much pain!

Just yesterday, their bodies so strong and sound,

now lay torn by the enemy’s guns.

For them, another battle now begins,

a fight to live, a fight to heal the wounds of war.

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