Tribute to Veterans

                                                                        A veteran sits at the tomb of the unknown soldier with his dog.
                                                                                     ( Image courtesy of photographer, C. Jeff Dyrek.)


                              .

In Remembrance of-

Father - Alvin D Wolf (1909 - 1991) who served in the Seabees in WWII. He was injured in a bomb blast while stationed on the Marshall Islands; and was hospitalized for 9 months. He received the purple heart.

Husband - Lloyd William Duncan (1925 - 2002). As a soldier in U.S. Army during WWII, he was stationed in Australia, New Guinea, Layte, Mendora, Bataan and Manila.

Grandson - Caleb Barber (1982- ) who is in the Air Force Reserve, and is currently on active duty in Iraq.

COWBOYS DON'T CRY

I fear the best part of me
died in the war.
The cocky, tough cowboy
I was, was no more.
With a soul that was shell-shocked,
I saw Hell explode
as a field of God's finest,
the strafing planes mowed.
I dove from the horror
that hailed from the sky,
and I thought of the man that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"

As I saw my best buddy's blood
pool on the ground,
from his torn shreds of flesh
I could hear not a sound.
With eyes that were screaming
and no longer dry,
I scoffed at the man that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"

The bomb-blasted ground was
stained dirty red;
and was littered with limbs
of the dismembered dead.
Satan's mad demons,
I met them that day-
and I saw what Hell looked like.
I learned how to pray.
With fists clenched in fury,
I shook at the sky;
and I cursed the damn fool that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"

Bette Wolf Duncan © June 30, 2007

GOD BLESS OUR SERVICE MEN AND WOMEN!

   The foregoing poem was submitted to cowboypoetry.com for posting in the specific section titled POEMS FOR VETERANS DAY. It was rejected by Margo Metagrano because it was not sufficiently cowboy-western in theme or worthy of posting. I defer to her judgment; and I apologize for my shortcomings. But because this page was intended to honor the millions of cowboys who have served their country well and honorably, I am posting four of the poems deemed sufficient. Enjoy! They are beautiful and well deserved tributes to our Veterans. You can read all of the postings with a click of the mouse:
                                              http://www.cowboypoetry.com/veteran.htm

       In the words of Rod Nichols,"God bless all our men and women in uniform where ever they may be around the world. They are the best our nation can offer in the defense of freedom."

A Dad's Prayer

An old man's sittin' here tonight
by news-talk radio
so maybe he will hear some word
on how the war might go.

He's list'nin' hard and prayin' too
his son now in Iraq,
Dear Lord if You might see Your way
to bring him safely back.

He wasn't told he had to go,
he upped and volunteered.
His reasons made his dad feel proud
but that don't ease the fear.

I love him Lord and miss him so,
his smile and youthful ways.
Don't let the cruelty of this war
now harden him these days.

He's never faced an enemy
who values life so cheap.
He's always seen the good in man
his word a thing to keep.

He sees it as his duty Lord
to be the first to fight
and proudly stand to face the foe
of all we hold as right.

But somewhere over there tonight
he might have thoughts of home.
Would you just let him know for me
he's not out there alone.

I thank you Lord and I'll be here
by news-talk radio,
to listen and receive some word
on how the war might go.

Rod Nichols © 2006

Rod Nichols son, Dennis, is serving our country in Iraq. This poem was written with him in mind; but Rod said it was also written "for those who have loved ones overseas."

In Flanders Field

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
John McCrae, 1919

Lest We Forget

"Never again," was the heartfelt motto,
"Lest We Forget," became the Veteran's Day theme,
But the big guns did not long stay silent.
And Peace is still a will o' wisp dream.
In the "war to end all wars,"
I had one grandfather on each side.
For my parents, my brothers, sisters and I
It's fortunate neither one died.
Both fought for God and Country,
Believing their cause was just,
Nights they would pray, they'd live to the day,
When the big guns would all turn to rust.
Lest we forget,
The thousands who died in the trenches,
The millions who have perished in pain,
We owe it to all the victims of war,
To keep striving for, "Never again!"

OTHERS

The daybreak comes so pure and still.
He said that I was pure as dawn,
That day we climbed to Signal Hill.
Back there before the war came on.
God keep me pure as he is brave,
And fit to take his name.
I let him go and fight to save
Some other girl from shame.

Across the gulch it glimmers white,
The little house we plotted for.
We would be sitting here tonight
If he had never gone to war—
The firelight and the cricket's cheep,
My arm around his neck—
I let him go and fight to keep
Some other home from wreck.

And every day I ride to town
The wide lands talk to me of him—
The slopes with pine trees marching down,
The spread-out prairies, blue and dim.
He loved it for the freedom's sake
Almost as he loved me.
I let him go and fight to make
Some other country free.
Badger Clark, 1915

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