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One Story From Viet Nam

Poetry By: Ava Rosien

There are many stories, just like this one, that came out of the Viet Nam war. They are sad and tragic, but happen in time of war. Those of us who suffered their loss, remember and pay tribute the best way we can.

The poem I've written is from the soldier's point of view. It is a true story and it is written about in a book by Author, John Plaster. He has written many books on the subject of SOG and the elite Special Forces soldier's who were secretly sent into Cambodia and neighboring countries to conduct intelligence missions along the Ho Che Mein trail.

The Sergeant in this poem was Robert Howard, who became the most decorated man in the war of Viet Nam; rising to the status of General over his long military career.

The young soldier was my finace, Lt. James R. Jerson.

Submitted:Mar 7, 2013    Reads: 30    Comments: 5    Likes: 3   

I was twenty-one and you, my love, age eighteen;

you were dressed in summer white; I in Army green.

We fell in love and life was grand; till my orders came;

we tried to pretend that everything remained the same.


The day arrived; this young Lieutenant took his flight;

time to use my training to fight the good soldier's fight.

One last kiss before we parted; then I boarded plane;

holding tears till out of sight; so couldn't see my pain.


I soon landed on a foreign soil; to serve my country well;

Not knowing in just brief time; I'd be marching into hell.

A comrade's fallen, left behind and I must go in search;

upon a hill; where he may lay wounded and in a lurch.


Chopper drops us in unfriendly land; my platoon and me;

with trepidation and some fear; our guns held readily.

With Sergeant by my side; we stealthily climbed the hill;

we promised we'd not let the other; be captured to kill.


A claymore mine they say was tripped; I lay on the ground;

bleeding from an unknown wound; I never heard the sound.

The enemy had ambushed us; they set their plan in motion;

Sarge's hand grabbed my legs; pulling me with devotion.


The Sergeant was wounded too; but still stayed by my side.

My guys fought for many hours; though many of them died.

"No morphine for me Medic; I must remain clear and alert."

Air support was on its way; I must hang on; "Oh God I hurt!"


Once Charlie was on the run; our rescue chopper came;

wounded first, then the rest; I called out Sarge's name.

He was the last to jump in; before we lifted up in air;

last thing I remember was; Sergeant's concerned stare.


He passed out while holding me; and I passed out too;

He woke up in the hospital; death parted me from you.

I held on as long as could; I tried to be a soldier brave;

my love, try to understand; my wounds were too grave.


Blame me not for leaving you; blame the senseless war;

and the ones who feed the beast; from shore to shore.

Greed and power killed me; was not the enemy's hand;

more soldiers, like me will perish; lying on foreign sand.


I'm in a place where lasting peace cannot be undone;

where serenity now takes the place of the warring gun.

Mourn me not my love; but remember me in kindness;

till we are united once again; far from men's blindness.


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