Belgian royals mark the 70th anniversary of the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes in snowy weather

[Historic NY]

3. The Battling Bastards of Bastogne, no momma, no poppa, no Uncle Sam.

Poems by John F. McCullagh : 71 / 675
Bastogne


The longest darkness of the year
comes as Christmas is drawing near.
We dug and cursed the frozen ground
The snow was deep, more coming down.

We are surrounded and outgunned.
We’re short of food and winter gear.
Medicines are running out
and we have scores of wounded here.

I do believe my feet are frozen
I can no longer feel my toes.
But still I will not leave the line
What I ‘d give for a cuppa joe.

The sounds of Panzers in the wind-
Shouts heard in a guttural tongue-
We brace for yet one more attack
and vow we won’t be overrun.

We’re the battling bastards of Bastogne
No mother, no father, no Uncle Sam
The Germans came, we beat them back-
But now we’re a much smaller band.

When our surrender was demanded
They say McAuliffe told them nuts.
I’ve heard that Patton will relieve us
We’re waiting on “old blood and guts