David R. “Poppa” Alexander


While I sit here in my living room,
Contemplating the war with all its gloom,
I remember some of the good,
Some of the guys that was funny but misunderstood.

Oh, so long ago, all I usually remember is the bad,
Tonight I remember the good along with the sad,
I remember one such sole that stole the show,
How he coped no one would ever know.

He was a slim, old man of twenty-four,
And his laugh was more like a roar,
He had studied to be a priest you see,
But his spirit wouldn’t let that be.

A free spirit I guess you would say,
And at every chance he would make your day,
He had quit the study to be a man of the cloth,
Instead decided to become a soldier to make most of his families scoff.

His antics were full of fun and life,
He once said he just didn’t want the world to be so full of strife,
He never once took his job in jest,
Instead he was one of my very best.

Always the first to have a drink,
Always the last to stop and make you think,
We knew him as a brother in a far away land,
As he was always there to lend a hand,

He told jokes, and horsed around till the fighting came,
Then he was always there and earned his nickname.
Fergurson was his name and he came from some small berg,
But we just knew him as “Father Ferg.”

Then one day Father “Ferg” was there no more,
Because you see a grenade found Ferg, before he finished his chore,
I remember him now, in a different light,
As man of God, and a pure delight,

You see I can remember some good,
Even maybe if you don’t think I should,
Well friend, you don’t know the half,
‘Cause Father “Ferg” could sure make you laugh.