Thurman P. Woodfork


The cost of freedom makes old soldiers weep,
As we realize our leaders have failed to keep
The tranquility we gave so much to secure –
After all the sacrifices we had to endure.

We gave our youth, our innocence, and friends
In hopes for some ethereal ‘peace dividend’
That supposedly would last for eons to come.
But now they’re asking, not only for our sons,

But our wives and daughters to step to the fore.
Will there be no respite from unending war?
Shed a tear? Sweet Jesus, I would weep a lake
If there was a chance I knew it would slake

The ravenous thirst of those who rule
And spur us forward like obedient mules
To bleed, and die, and destroy, and kill,
While they sit at home tending the till

As it jingles and bulges with the dividends,
Not of peace, but of strife that never ends.
Yes, I could cry until my tears were a flood,
But they don’t want tears; they want my blood.