I nearly lost my life.
Iíll never forget the pain and stenches
While fighting to quell the strife.
For just a momentís peace I linger
As youth walk by and laugh and curse,
They salute and give ME the third finger.
Nor why I have a limp.
They just laugh and point, make fun and complain,
Theyíre what we old timers would call a Ďwimpí.
Nor probably even care
Why old men march with kilted band
And in silence remember despair.
And stare vacantly into the air,
Nor why tears run down old wrinkled faces
Remembering old comrades no longer there.
How we battled with grenade and gun,
How we gave up life so thereíd be no strife
So they could live free and have fun.
A virtual world is all they expect.
But all I ask in my last days
Of THEM is a little respect.