To the Men Who Took the Cliffs

To the boys of Pointe du Hoc, a toast. To the men who took the cliffs.

To the men who slogged through mud and blood, who gathered up and buried the remains of worthy comrades, a toast.

To the flyer boys who piloted their ships towards danger, laughing it to scorn, a toast.

To the ones who went to tend the wounded under fire, a toast.

To the one who waited patiently for the day when he would come home running to the arms of his best girl, a toast.

To the one whose sweetheart couldn’t wait, a toast.

To the 17-year-old who hit the beach with ashen face and trembling knees, yet crawled towards the sound of death, a toast.

To all fathers, sons and brothers who have fought and bled on a distant shore, for causes clear and causes little understood.

To all those who left as boys and came back as men, I raise my glass and softly call: “Goodnight. And joy be with you all.”