They began to arrive in ’64,
Marines and Army, coming to shore.
They arrived in Quinhon and Camron Bay,
They came to fight, but not to stay.
The ships brought thousands of young fighting men,
They would fight in the jungles, but they weren’t sure when.
Their tour of duty was only a year,
But 35 years later the war is still near.
It’s in the minds and bodies of the once young men,
It’s in the hearts and souls, and will never end.
Some of the memories are good and bad,
But most of the memories are very sad.
The little people who lived there, depended on us,
To help them and aid them, their times were tough.
I can still see the looks in some of their eyes,
Most were filled with fear, some with the lies.
We stayed our year, waiting to go home,
Some made on their feet, over 58,000 were prone.
Their memory is now inscribed on a black granite wall,
In a place we all know, as the D.C. Mall.
The little people of Nam were left behind,
To fend for themselves in our own rioting time.
The pressure of politics soon took it’s toll,
And forgot about the little people, their heart and soul.
In the end, they lost their fight,
The men from the North had won their right.
They fought a war for their belief,
We took police action, in hopes of relief.
We fought on their turf, we fought their war,
Not really realizing what was finally in store.
We fought on their terms in a jungle war,
We did what we could in a place so far.
We were kids young at heart when we were sent,
Our hearts were much older after we went.
We went with our honor, duty, and face,
Not realizing we would be looked on with much disgrace.
If I had it to do over, I would do it again,
I would fight this time only to win,
I’m not ashamed I went, for in the end,
I met many a man who became a life long friend.