David R. “Poppa” Alexander


It’s been a long time since I left Vietnam;
A blond young boy from the farm fighting for Uncle Sam
Wishing to be with the family I left behind
Even as the years go by the friends linger in my mind.

As I grow older and not always smarter
The days of remembering grow longer,
And the map through the mind I’m no charter
The images grow more faded but these I wouldn’t barter.

I oft wonder how I should feel about my fallen friends;
Should I remember them with my pen?
Seems that most think you should just forget.
If only it were that easy without a feeling of regret.

Some think we are looking for sympathy or maybe a hand out
Could it be that they are right, sometimes I began to doubt.
Or could it be that a bond was woven between the living and the dead?
I’ll try to remember that next time I’m sweating in my bed.