David R. “Poppa” Alexander
The sky is red with sunlight
It turns to deep blue then gray as day turns to night.
The choppers were due at noon
Some of us will die if they don’t come soon.
With this dang monsoon pressing down
There is no way the choppers can get on the ground
The thick smell of powder and smoke
Enough to make you choke.
The deep colors of the jungle green
With a splash of other colors thrown in between
The jungle floor is a dirty brackish brown
And it’s been day’s sense we actually saw the ground.
Charlie hit with an unusual cunning
The whole platoon had to come running.
For three hours the contact held
And you can never forget the color of the jungle and the awful smell.
With red streaks of sunlight to light the way, first platoon was cut to shreds
With almost twenty ash colored men lying dead.
We arrived with mud and leaches clinging to our very souls;
Not much was left of the whole damn patrol.
You may have heard me speak of Dan;
This is where the red headed boy played his final hand.
I’ve got twelve more Dan’s waiting,
If only the gray sky would stop raining.
Now I can hear the chopper’s blades pop and whirl
As the gray rain and wind begins to swirl,
Those guys in those choppers are more than a welcome site
They will get us out of here before the end of this dark gray night.
So here is to the brothers above that risk it all to save our lives,
We know that help is here when the choppers arrive.
Descending the blades are clipping limbs and leaves
They get us out like nighttime thieves.
©Copyright August 15, 2002 by David R. Alexander