The Soldier
I’ve fought up on high mountains,
on dry deserts and on plains.
I’ve fought in dazzling sunshine,
and in snowfalls and in rains.
I’ve fought my way through hedgerows,
and on dozens of distant beaches.
I’ve fought in dark infested swamps,
with their gators, snakes and leeches.
I’ve fought in ice cold foxholes,
when feet were frozen numb.
I’ve fought in stifling jungle heat,
and rice patty’s stinking scum.
I’ve fought down in dark tunnels,
and in fields laden with flowers.
I’ve been badly wounded in battle,
and lay there alone for hours.
I’ve fought with blind and total fury,
and with gut wrenching fears.
I’ve knelt beside downed comrades,
and I could not hide my tears.
I’ve fought with muskets and with lasers,
with my helmet and my fists.
I’ve fought hand to hand many times,
those my bullets may have missed.
I’ve fought from behind stone walls,
from trenches and from tanks.
I’ve paraded in splendid court yards,
as people gave their thanks.
I’ve fought valiantly with honor,
in every fight that I was in.
I’ve asked only for recognition,
for wars they would not let me win.
My name is there on Bunker Hill,
and on the Big Black Wall.
I am your American soldier,
and I still am standing tall.
P.N.
