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Note: "right" either means this blogger is correct or that they lean right. I know what I mean by it. How do you take it?
Note: "right" either means this blogger is correct or that they lean right. I know what I mean by it. How do you take it?
- RG in The Low Country!(Right)
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(Right) - Kat, sometimes in pajamas!
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A Man of Rare Integrity! (Right) - Out of the Ashes(Right)
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Iraqi Blogs
- Iraq the Model
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(This is where I go when I want to piss off some insane "Unrealists". Thanks CMAR!) - Khalid Digging for Secrets!
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- Baghdad Burning
(The infamous, the mysterious, the mostly hysterical Riverbend!!!!)
101st Fighting Keyboardists
The Wide Awakes
Shaky Old Hands
11/11/2010 |
Posted by
kender |
Edit Post
He awoke before dawn as he usually did
But today wasn't just any day
He showered and shaved with shaky old hands
And went to the bed where it lay
A uniform worn by the passage of years
Slightly faded, lay in all its glory
The ribbons upon it were starting to fade
But to him it told quite a story
He was a kid in June '44
Storming a beach head in france
When the fighting was done he put down his gun
While a french girl taught him to dance
A few short years later he fought in the snow
And become one of the Chosin Few
He thinks on those days when the weather is cold
And winter is breaking anew
He fought them in Nam as the monsoons poured down
While the media at home slurred his name
Never doubting his mission he had no regrets
He retired without any shame
Today he will ride down the main street of town
As the folks on the sidewalk all cheer
Tomorrow they'll not recognize him at all
It happens like this every year
But he doesn't care he knows what he did
In all of those far away lands
And he smiles as he buttons his uniform up
With his heroic, shaky old hands
But today wasn't just any day
He showered and shaved with shaky old hands
And went to the bed where it lay
A uniform worn by the passage of years
Slightly faded, lay in all its glory
The ribbons upon it were starting to fade
But to him it told quite a story
He was a kid in June '44
Storming a beach head in france
When the fighting was done he put down his gun
While a french girl taught him to dance
A few short years later he fought in the snow
And become one of the Chosin Few
He thinks on those days when the weather is cold
And winter is breaking anew
He fought them in Nam as the monsoons poured down
While the media at home slurred his name
Never doubting his mission he had no regrets
He retired without any shame
Today he will ride down the main street of town
As the folks on the sidewalk all cheer
Tomorrow they'll not recognize him at all
It happens like this every year
But he doesn't care he knows what he did
In all of those far away lands
And he smiles as he buttons his uniform up
With his heroic, shaky old hands
Labels:
poetry
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