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An't That A Shame!
A long, long time ago, through the old red
covered bridge they rode so young and bold,
Singing; "Bullets and Bombs in South Vietnam"
No longer splashing in old Flat creek,
and one arm gone, thanks to Sam.
The Cong charged the wire, but we keep up
the Automatic fire. And in my mind, there
I was in forty eight swinging on the old
garden gate.
Flares dimly flickering in the jungle dark,
105's sound off with their thundering bark.
At the prom with a hundred pink and white
Carnations, dancing in the moonlight.
Oh! What a sight!
Blood on the ground, blood all around,
Screaming, screaming, O' what a fight!
Fear, agony and pain, after forty years
and those wounds still remain.
Dancing in the bombed out streets of Hue,
and the whiskey flowed like buttermilk in
the year of sixty eight, and when the
fighting was over, no one knew what to say.
All those years and no one to blame,
and now all we can say is;
"An't that a shame!
As the church bells ring and the tears begin
to fall, we all bow our heads and remeber
their names inscribed on that black grainty wall.
Jackie r. Kays
© 06
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