The letter came in first class mail
When he was twenty-four.
His name was chosen in the draft.
He had to go to war.
He didn’t ask to volunteer.
He really had no choice.
He felt inside that war was wrong,
Yet no one heard his voice.
They showed him how to use a gun,
And how to kill a man,
And then they placed him on a plane
Destined for Viet Nam.
He fought a war he didn’t like.
He watched his best friend die,
And as he fought in Viet Nam,
He even learned to cry.
He came from war, a broken man,
To face the public scorn.
They turned their backs when he came by.
He walked the streets forlorn.
The people who were once his friends
Have opened up new scars.
He thinks of those who died in Nam.
How better off they are.
Nov. 13, 1980
© 2010 – 2011, Steven R. Drennon. All rights reserved.