Her Story Was Her Glory. A Poem from Little Miss 6888th In Honor of Anna Mae Wilson Robertson

 

Hope in an Envelope. 

Her Story Was Her Glory. 

A Poem from Little Miss 6888th

In Honor of Anna Mae Wilson Robertson

She was born of humble Southern clay,

Where dreams were dim and skies turned gray.

But deep within, a spark took flight —

A warrior clothed in sacred light.

Orphaned young, yet richly blessed,

She wore resilience as her dress.

With brother close, they made the vow,

To serve with honor, here and now.

At nineteen years, she took her stand,

And placed her future in God’s hand.

Not for applause, nor for acclaim,

But to uplift a nation’s name.

In khaki pressed and purpose firm,

Through storms and stillness, every term,

She faced the fight with steady grace —

A gentle fire in time and space.

A mountain high of dreams unmet,

Letters sealed in sorrow’s debt.

She touched them all with tender might,

And turned delay to love’s delight.

Seventeen million hearts she stirred,

Through every name, through every word.

In England’s fog, in France’s rain,

She worked with strength beyond the strain.

“No Mail, Low Morale,” they cried —

She rose in faith and did not hide.

Their silent task, dismissed and scorned,

Became a legacy reborn.

No brass bands played when she came home,

No crowds, no flag, no welcome tone.

But still she walked in quiet power —

A hidden gem, a blooming flower.

Now, time at last has caught her flame,

The world leans in to learn her name.

With medal placed and flowers near,

We rise and say — we see you clear.

She did not just wear uniform —

She bore the weight of every storm.

She did not simply mark her years —

She carved her story through our tears.

Now Heaven waits with gates unrolled,

A crown of light, a robe of gold.

The angels sing, the trumpets swell —

The veteran queen is home to dwell.

And from this child, so small and true,

Dear Lord, I lift my thanks to You.

For Anna Mae — her strength, her spark,

Her guiding light through shadows dark.

Let every girl who looks like me

Stand tall in truth and legacy.

Let courage be our daily song,

And justice make our spirits strong.

For such a time, she lived and led.

For all time now, she walks ahead.

Her story etched in Heaven’s scroll —

A soul of might, a heart made whole.

With love eternal and dreams alight,

Little Miss 6888th

“Her story was her glory. Her service, our song.” 

Photos by Elizabeth Helm-Frazier