Colin F. Jones
I STAND HERE
I stand here in this pool of blood,
As any wounded soldier would,
And gaze out there with vacant eye,
Where fallen comrades helpless lie.
And as they carry me away,
In my heart I deeply pray,
That some of them just like me,
Will yet another fine day see.
Tis all my thoughts as I write this,
Belonging to the nurses kiss,
And those with strong and gentle hands,
Who carried men from bloodied sands,
And from the jungle to the doors,
Of the choppers with the gentle claws.
~ 2 ~
I know my comrades felt like this,
I shared a ward in my own crisis,
And there were terrible things I saw,
Men shattered and torn and some burnt raw.
And most got back because some guy,
Cared enough to fear deny,
To reach the wounded in the field,
Where enemy soldiers lay concealed.
I hated the whirr of chopper blades,
But they inspire in me great accolades,
For the men who risked their lives for those,
Who were saved from lying in the body-bag rows,
And whisked away ill death to cheat,
That they now walk the city street.
©Copyright September 24, 2006 by Colin F. Jones