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Boys of Grafenwohr by *Tinchade:iconTinchade:



   Up in the hills of Deutschland,
   Grafenwöhr is the spot,
   There is no room for air force,
   In the land that God forgot,
   Out in the sun with a rifle,
   Down in a tent with the dust,
   Trying to clean a BAR,
   Already covered with rust,
   We train all day in rain or dust,
   Sleep in muddy holes at night,
   We are told that this will teach us how to fight,
   We are soldiers in the Army,
   And in a Foreign Land,
   Back home we are soon forgotten,
   We belong to Uncle Sam,
   But on that day we stand before those pearly Gates we hear tell,
   St. Peter will say,
   Come in Boys from Grafenwöhr,
   You served your Hitch in Hell.
Creative Commons License
Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
:icontinchade:

Author's Comments

This poem has a deep importance to me, for it was written by my Grandpa Donald Wallis, who survived his way through Vietnam. It was a couple of days after he died that we were going through his old stuff and when my Uncle turned on the computer the printer printed out this poem. It's the last thing my Grandpa left for the world so for that it is treasured.

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:iconrandompix0o:
great story! and the poem rings kinda true, heh.
:iconuuhhhh1563:
wow

--
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March 2, 2007
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