|View single post by Dixie Girl|
|Posted: Tue Sep 30th, 2008 12:27 am||
|Young, exited Soldiers,
Prepare themselves for war,
They quit their family,
Walk out the door.
Once arrived, they cock their gun,
They never know when it'll be done.
On the battlefield, the bullets rip.
As well as flesh, not just off the hip.
The bullets puncture them,
Just like a dart,
Fast and furious, right through their heart.
They came as men, women as well.
They put themselves through pain,
They called it hell.
Some survived, went home alive.
While others didn't, they took a dive.
Missed the dodge and took one to the chest.
Some of them were the best.
Their family now lives in pain,
All they can do is reminisce.
Off all the good times, all the gain.
Their only hope has now been crushed.
Of the safe return of their spouse.
The coffin buried,
Few days later,
Tears are shed,
Roses are spread.
The family prays, for the best,
Hoping that they can peacefully rest.
War Means Fighting And Fighting Means Killing - N. B. Forrest When war does come, my advice is to draw the sword and throw away the scabbard." Stonewall Jackson