I just learned (via email)
  from a close paternal relative Pamela Noblitt
that my paternal grandfather (Aaron Harris),
   when in his prime fit
as a fiddle served
   in the Phillipine American War,
   which sharpened his fighting skills a bit

and posthumously thank him het all
plus belated gratitude  
   for late maternal Uncle Paul
(hoof aught in World War II) etrenched in foxholes,
   or slithered snaking upon the enemy to stall
   and good ole dad, strapping and tall

during height of physical maturation
   (who oft times recounted exploits,
   sans far from the front lines
   and imaginary brick wall
   about his role in the Korean/American War –
when prodded by thine eldest
   collegiate eldest grown daughter),
   and hob bet cha y'll

and blinked back tears  
knowing thee above kith and kin,
   when figuratively at bat
survived, and avoided significant mortal combat,

came home to a warm welcome as handome chaps
   encountering aswarm of young ladies,
   an armada vis a vis amorous coup d'etat
some returning troopers most likely
   kept their word
   (made before boot camp) promising flat
outright to marry girlfriends,
   highschool sweethearts,
   or maybe medics, which feminine touch,

went to the heart and soul buzzfeeding,
creating, enticing with gnat
much effort,  one or another
   tough leather neck
   to blatantly proposition – doffing hat
with suave debonair courting
   meowing a silky gal named “Kat”.