They are forever here together, they shared a common fate.
Here are they, the first to fall, and those who perished late.
Some were slaughtered at Khe San, Others died at Hue.
All came home through Dover, buried in their native clay.
They are our older brothers who fought as brave Marines.
There are sons and fathers here and far too many teens.
Fifty Eight thousand names inscribed in ebony writ bold.
Time passes and the memories fade; their stories go untold.
I see my grey reflection as my fingers touch the wall
Across the years I think of one, so young, who gave his all.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
They are forever here together, they shared a common fate.
Here are they, the first to fall, and those who perished late.
Some were slaughtered at Khe San, Others died at Hue.
All came home through Dover, buried in their native clay.
They are our older brothers who fought as brave Marines.
There are sons and fathers here and far too many teens.
Fifty Eight thousand names inscribed in ebony writ bold.
Time passes and the memories fade; their stories go untold.
I see my grey reflection as my fingers touch the wall
Across the years I think of one, so young, who gave his all.
A visit to the Vietnam memorial wall. An old man, a contemporary of the fallen sees a familiar name.
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