The Spoils of War

Joe was a Lad of eighteen,
Learnin’ the cowboy way.
A boy standin’ tall and lean
Yearnin’ to earn his pay

He had finished school that spring,
The year was sixty-four.
Now, cowboying was his thing.
The country was at war.

The first week of September
That letter came for Joe.
A day we’ll all remember
Joe said he had to go.

Said it was his obligation,
One he could not refuse.
He would serve his nation,
But which branch would he choose?

Joe left us in November.
He wrote, of home he yearned.
On each he wrote a number,
Days until he returned.

Three weeks for the Holidays,
Not hardly time enough.
Always pulled in different ways,
Leaving again was tough.

From infantry to sniper,
Joe showed from what he’s made.
He chose the nick name “Viper”,
The best in his brigade.

His unit was shipping out,
One year in Viet Nam
We knew what this was about,
Sniping for Uncle Sam.

A year passed and Joe returned,
Not the boy we once knew.
Many medals he had earned,
Memories of men slew.

The sparkle gone from his eyes,
His smile no longer there.
Too often his laughter dies,
His look a faraway stare.

He doesn’t join the singing,
Nor in the bunkhouse fun.
For something else he’s longing,
Perhaps his sniper’s gun.

The Army made him a man,
And taught him how to kill.
Seems that year in Viet Nam,
Took away this boy’s will.

The saying goes “War is Hell”,
Our boy is proof of this.
He now is just a shell.
THE JOE WE HAD, WE MISS!