Colin F. Jones


Again the Vietnam War returns,
Like a dark storm from the past,
That again the Kampongs burn,
As we lower the flag to half mast.
Again in ranks and lines we tramp,
Medals clinging to our breasts,
Beneath the overhanging lamp,
That helps glorify our quest.
But when the sermons are all read,
When the flow of beer has ceased to spill,
When we have gambled and have fed,
We go back to being ill…
We go home and try, once more
To forget the pain of war.