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#21 |
Have My Own Room
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I think of...
My mother, USAF radar tech 1954-58. My grandfather, 33rd Division 1917-18, who was on the front lines in France at 1100 hrs on November 11, 1918. My great-uncle, who was headed over for the 1919 offensive when the Armistice was signed, took his discharge in France and began a long career with the US Consulate in Paris (which included being interned by the Germans during WWII). My friend Peter, the old-school jeweler and watchmaker, who served from Guadalcanal to the Philippines and every point in between, and has eleven pieces of Japanese steel in him to this day. I also think of this...I have no idea who wrote it: The Man With The Rifle Men may argue forever on what wins their wars And welter in cons and pros And seek for their answer at history's doors But the man with the rifle knows He must stand on the ground on his own two feet And he's never in doubt when it's won If it's won, he's there; if he's not...it's defeat That's his test, when the fighting is done When he carries the fight, it's not with a roar Of armored wings spitting death He creeps and crawls on earthen floor Butt down and holding his breath Saving his strength for the next low rush Grenade throw or bayonet thrust And the whispered prayer, before he goes in Of a man who does what he must And when he's attacked, he can't zoom away When the shells fill the world with their sound He stays where he is, loosens his spade And digs his defense in the ground That ground isn't ours till he's there in the flesh Not a gadget or a bomb, but a man He's the answer to theories which start afresh With every peace since war began So let the wild circle of argument range On what wins, as war comes and goes Many new theories may hold the stage But the man with the rifle knows. ![]()
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"It's the cigars that bring us together, but it's the people that cause us to stay." ![]() |
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