They're your uncles or your brothers; They're the ones who fought and bled. Theirs are the names upon this wall, the legion of our dead. They didn't run to Canada when they heard their country call. They ran toward the sound of guns; All through the Sixties did they fall. So spare a moment at the wall, Peruse their names incused. Long Summers past, they were like us, with so much more to lose.
My visit to the Vietnam Memorial. There were some names their of children I used to play with, back in the Fifties.