Dean Reynolds related this story to a friend, Ralph Slaugh. Ralph wrote
this poem about an experience in World II. It is calls it:

A Frightened Little Girl

I was a G.I. Joe in Germany, the year was forty five
We're moving up determinedly, I'm tired but must survive
I can't remember when I've slept, or when I've really rested
A body tires but must accept, when being battle tested

Our column slackened to a halt, just why I did not know
But welcomed any progress fault, to rest this weary Joe
We've stopped beside a three walled shack, small and weather stressed
I stepped inside, threw down my pack, sat down to have a rest

Tired as I was, I drifted off, was soon in troubled slumber
Gratefull for the the ground so soft shielded by that lumber
My body gloried in that pause, I snoozed like I was dead
Fired, worn and weary as I was, good as a king sized bed

It's sometimes called a power nap, short, rejuvenating
Like rolling soft in luxury's lap, most exhilarating
Well it wasn't quite that good, but was appreciated
Glad to have what sleep I could, just as I have stated

Suddenly I came alive, my senses did unfurl
Cause snuggled next and close to me a pretty little girl
Twas plain she needed body heat, the weather being cold
And there she was so close and sweet, I'd say 'bout eight years old

I lay still, I did't move, no wish to break the spell
She just snuggled close to prove, my wish and hers as well
Twas plain to see her world, was now a war torn mess
A lonely frightened little girl, just needed tenderness

Now Germans I had hated, with all my heart and soul
I'd considered them related, to Satan and his fold
I'd not thought of them as human, but from the under world
Not someone born of woman, then who's this little girl

She saw that I was wakened, regarded me with fear
I smiled to ease her quakin', offered her my cheer
I handed her a chocolate bar, I hoped for friendship's strength
With hesitation, apprehension par, she accepted it at length

But at this magic moment, I heard the move out call
I grabbed up my pack and went, forthwith from the stall
We waved goodbye reluctantly, Quickley I was gone
The shack I viewed once distantly, Then we're moving on

I could never hate as much, the Germans were more real
They had frightened little girls that touch and smile and love and feel
I couldn't hate effectively as I had done before
My talent lacked efficiency, I guess forever more

That frightful war was over, nigh sixty years ago
For most of us twill never, be completely so
Those events forever scribed, in brain and heart and soul
Oft return as subtle vibes, in each exacts a toll

My mind goes back, I wonder, what became of her
I speculate and ponder, never to be sure
Does she remember me. I of dust and grime
For me twill ever be, choice moments etched in time

This is a true story related by Dean Reynolds and recorded in poetic form by Ralph Slaugh