Always A Rifle on My Shoulder

Always A Rifle on My Shoulder
Nov. 28, 2009

Teter's Vietnam Reflections

’Tis a song of heart contrite,
Of fearless men, young and bright.
Innocent boys of their generation,
Poor bastards of creation.
Bald headed and dirty faced,
With scrawny arms and skinny waists.
Rugged regulars and rusty guns,
Heaving and dying on heavy runs.
Infantile jokes of girlfriends past,
Little treasures happily recast.
Brothers few in earthen holes,
Rain or snow, they are happy souls.
A photograph of home far away,
Hide their tears, courage portray.
Amidst the enemies, death, and dearth they smile to,
Youthful innocence sacrificed; these for their country do.
But at dawn when they fall to hostile foes,
In a little box their body goes.
At homecoming no glory greet,
No parade or high honors, oh bittersweet.
His only friends remember him,
In trenches and firefights they sing his hymn.
In mud, blood and beer they give a toast,
For no braver a soldier can they ever boast.