Battled in Nam, but he'd come home.
Yet, still, a soldier's life to roam.
His hat still dusty, his pants baggy.
And his shirt, both shoulders saggy.
Two years he'd done his ever best.
Eyes stern, he'd passed American's test.
He too, a winner, somehow made it home.
Sadness behind, buddies in heaven roam.
Not one civilian to shake his hand.
Not one to say, "thanks, your a great lad."
No parade for the good job he'd done.
Just the radio playing, an a setting sun.
Day after day no appreciation came.
Nightmares endless, but never the same.
Circling, blasts of blackness and fire.
Muttered words, of Sarg's voice over the wire.
His thoughts so sad, yet others seen him so glad.
His spirits lifted, by the sight of the flag.
His face, no smile, of age it began to sag.
A new conflict, a new war came-round.
His old tired feet stood in the crowd.
Then National Anthem, played now loud.
The per-session came by, as I caught his eye.
And in his expression I seen, Why?
His cataract blood shot stern eyes.
Hid, long ago soldiers lost hearts cry.
A crowd, each ask "Why" of homeward soldiers coffin.
Salutes, bravery bright, shown like a beacon-- ghost white.
The crowd stood, the car with coffin drove by.
All I could think of too was, Why?
Linda Bates Terrell
Written © July 12, 2013