" Poetry Lives In My Poems"
Vietnam Tears
I stood and I watched as a mother cried, when she finally heard that her son had died.
He did not die because he was ill, he died upon a foreign hill.
He died doing what he felt was right, that sudden bullet in the still of the night.
I watched a father try to hold back his tears, his son had lived only a scant 19 years.
His son had died nine thousand miles away, and what was there left for a father to say?
He got down on his knees in prayer, with bible in hand and his eye had a tear.
I stood and watched as a little girl cry, she didn't understand why her brother had to die.
She would never see her big brother's smile, or listen to him read in his eloquent style.
Looking at the little girl's tears I knew, he died in Nam for me and you
He did not die because he was ill, he died upon a foreign hill.
He died doing what he felt was right, that sudden bullet in the still of the night.
I watched a father try to hold back his tears, his son had lived only a scant 19 years.
His son had died nine thousand miles away, and what was there left for a father to say?
He got down on his knees in prayer, with bible in hand and his eye had a tear.
I stood and watched as a little girl cry, she didn't understand why her brother had to die.
She would never see her big brother's smile, or listen to him read in his eloquent style.
Looking at the little girl's tears I knew, he died in Nam for me and you
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Vietnam Tears
Vietnam Tears
