Thurman P. Woodfork


Sing a song of barbwire fences,
Things could go awry;
See the nervous GIs,
Hoping not to die.

Crouched behind the sand bags
Fighting off the dread;
Praying that the sunrise
Won’t find us cold and dead.

Monsoon season’s started,
Skies are wet and grey;
Won’t be no sky-borne cavalry
Coming to save this day.

Tighten up the pucker string,
Throttle back the fear,
Tingling senses tell you,
Charlie’s creeping near.

Mouth is just a little dry,
Jaws are clenched and tight;
Even hardcore atheist
Pray for morning light…

And something more
Than mortal help
To see us through the night.

A Response prompted by the poem “Fear” – ©Copyright June 5, 2005 by Charles Schwiderski