Thomas R. Milne, Sr


Here in the jungles far from home
Mud that pulls you down and holds you fast
A stench of rotting flesh fills the air
Red clay soaked with blood we lay.

Air thick with terror and screams of wounded dying men
Bullets slice and penetrate the flesh
Men and women fall and die
For reasons that God on high does know.

Death is quick to some, and pain never ending
I, for one do know, I held a fallen buddy to comfort him
My hands, my cloths, my face so filled with his blood
I, died within myself when I could not weep, for his pain.

He held my hand, his eyes to the Heavens strained
Lips purged in prayer for God’s forgiveness his sins to wash away
A calm as if a breathless breeze swept over us
He closed his eyes, a smile upon his face God took him home.

And now at rest, his family mourns
They now have peace their son is home
God, has taken their son on high a Battle Won
So pray with me, that we will someday be with God.

God Bless you all our fighting men and women.