Thomas N. Murphy 




At the whiles I sit and think

Of times there were before,

Listening for the running feet

And sounds of coming war.

I have trod the steps of those

Who ‘mid the battle's spoil

In defiant ruins stood,

Their guns in full recoil.



I have touched these symbols,

The mighty arms they bore

And felt in them the power

Of a country now at war.

Soldiers ran to man their posts

And bravely joined the fight;

Fear and panic, hope and grief,

With help nowhere in sight.



Still they stood and took the blow

That freedom might remain.

Holding back the enemy,

At least to slow his gain.

Though valiant to the end they stood

At last the order came,

With shoulders stooped, exhausted men

Surrendered, though still game.



They had withstood the onslaught,

Their sacrifice unknown.

Years of horrors lay ahead,

Prisoners, forgotten and alone.

Marched to fetid stinking camps,

Suffering beatings and starvation.

This the enemy's handiwork:

Cruelty, humiliation.



For what each endured, eyes tear and blink,

Remembering all they've given.

These monuments still stand today,

Reminding of lives riven.

Many are no longer with us;

Each year they fewer grow.

But through [the] work of those who care

Ensuring still the world will know.




           Thomas N. Murphy


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Copyright ©, The Corregidor Historic Society, 1999-2002
Last Updated: May 26, 2002

 "On Corregidor" Thomas N. Morphy, © 2002