It is good that war is so terrible;
else we should grow too fond of it.
Robert E. Lee (1807-1870)

I have been to the Wall

and have touched the cold granite.

Bleak in its blackness

on the mall it does stand

forever reminding us of the men

who died in that far away land.

I have been to the Wall

and have seen the deep etchings,

row upon row, column by column,

unending flow the names

of those gallant young men

long since forgotten.

I have been to the Wall

in search of a friend

who, in the prime of his life,

answered the call,

his name is now etched in granite

there on the Wall.

I know not his name

nor does he mine

fore we met but a moment

in that far away land,

two ships in the night

both of us answered the call,

but his name alone

is etched on the Wall.

Does anyone remember

that carefree young man

snatched from our midst

in that far away land?

Does anyone remember

who knelt by his side,

who fought back the tears

the day that he died?

Does anyone remember

the hands drenched in blood

that cradled his head

as his life ebbed away,

there in the mud

on the ground where he lay?

Does anyone remember

that carefree young man

snatched from our midst

in that far away land?

I do.