Dedicated to the memory of Lewis B. Puller, Jr. on the anniversary of
attending his funeral.
A most fortunate son, they said, am I,
toured Vietnam and did not die.
Made it home in stages, by and by,
put my best foot forward and gave it a try.
But, sometimes I hide alone and cry.
Behind a wall of emotional brick,
no sound gets through, it's good and thick.
You couldn't move me, with even a stick,
but it's not a life that I would naturally pick.
Well, sometimes I think that I'm really sick.
These ghosts of mine draw ever near,
and why they pester just isn't clear.
They sneak up and speak into my ear,
to say, "You should stay with us, in here."
Yet, sometimes I know they're right, I fear.
Time goes on, from morn to night,
and I struggle through, each step a fight.
I give my all, with all my might.
Just like we did when we were tight,
and finally I realize that I'm alright.
~ Jungle Vet '95 ~
Copyright © 1995 by Robert W. Baird 1/1D, 1st Platoon, Team "West Orange"
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