The Soldier
F J McCarthy on Jan 6, 2009

I wrote this after serving in the Army in the early 80’s. I had heard how the Vietnam vets were treated on returning home,and how I felt about being a young soldier. I was 17 when I enlisted.


The battle nears, and the soldier prepares.
Forget the fears, the enemy beware.
With uniform and weapon, and boots polish black.
He goes forth to battle,perhaps never to come back.
Not searching for glory, not wishing for fame.
He fights every battle, and they all seem the same.
his hands soaked with blood, his heart turning cold.
So young in his body, yet his mind is so old.
The friends he had made, lie dead there beside him.
Is this wrong or right, he needs something to guide him.
And when he gets home, to the country he loves.
Will they call him hero. or toss down the glove.
Will they call him foul names , as they spit on his face.
Will they call him a butcher, to the whole human race.
Now all of these things have happened before.
But he’s still just a soldier, to his duty he’s sure.
For freedom he fights, for he’s heard his countries call.
When you sleep safe tonight, remember the soldiers who died to keep our flag waving tall.