Lou J. Klaiber
Always think of you
and tellin’ you
‘bout boiled peanuts here in the South.
I Remembered you
The clouds were tears in my eyes.
The war seemed grey
and so long ago.
I remember your eyes
and trying to carry you.
I had to leave you when you died.
You went home alone
and I cried.
Seems these boiled peanuts are Vietnam.
The Beer is just the way that I go home.
©Copyright April 26, 2005 by Lou J. Klaiber