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Monday, November 17, 2008

Tour of Duty

Received the following poem from Pat Dooley D 1/8 1st Cav Oct.1967 to Oct.1968:


It started with a letter that one fateful day
Of Greetings from the U.S. of A

Our fathers and uncles had gone before
And served with honor in the great World War

It was our turn to answer our Nation’s call
Little knowing how many names would end up on the Wall

The training was basic then on to advanced
From shooting a rifle to blousing your pants

A month with your families then off to the War
To take that airplane to that far distant shore

Not knowing your future with the new family found
The smells, the excitement, the strange new sounds

We walked through the villages on narrow dirt trails
And ran through the rice paddies when sniper bullets sailed

We slept in the jungle on cold rainy nights
Under poncho tents without any lights

We flew by choppers into many landing zones
Seven in a Huey with outcomes unknown

At the end of our tour we flew back to the Place
No warm reception some got spit in their face

As I remember the War from a different time and place
The suffering the anguish the toll to my heart
Brings a tear down my worn out face

1 comment:

Mary Ann Cox Womack said...

This poem brought a tear to my eye as well. My brother PFC Richard Paul Cox died over there on those same rice paddies you are speaking of. He was from this platoon and died while his unit came under enemy fire and he covered them with his machine gun while they sought defensive position. He was one who didn't have to have his face spit into....