YET FILLED WITH GRACE

It's blistered feet, withering heat,
And a fifty-pound pack straining his back.
It's countless minutes, cuts and bruises,
Which no amount of ointment can hope to soothe.
It's daily care to prevent rifle rust,
Should his weapon fail, he will be as the dust.
It's monsoon rains which seem never to quit,
And thoughts of home which somehow don't fit.
It's climbing cruel mountains only to find,
Another waiting like the one behind.
It's thousands of insects, various kinds,
Which deprive him of peace of mind.
It's cold "C" rations eaten in haste,
But rest assured none go to waste.
It's the smell of repellent on a sweaty body.
Mixed with the odor of decaying Charlies.
It's booby traps and punji stakes,
Leeches, mud, and deadly snakes.
It's the constant strain of staying alert,
Of trying to sleep in mud and dirt.
It's unwashed fatigues, but he dares not spare,
His drinking water, for it is often rare.
It's that minute, which seems like a year,
When enemy rounds crack close by his ear.
It's treacherous tunnels and close quarter fighting,
Endless patrols to keep Charlie from hiding.
It's violent ambushes, quick and cruel,
To relax out here, is the creed of a fool.
It's long and lonely nights of fear,
While each sense asks, "Is Charlie near?"
It's brave men becoming strangely quiet,
When they hear of a stateside anti-war riot.
It's a Catholic mass by a beautiful creek,
It matters not what day of the week.
Others faiths pray in a nearby place.
Rifles in hand, yet filled with grace.
It's missing his loved ones who wait in fear,
And yearn for the day he will finish his year.
It's the sudden stillness the jungle assumes,
When a burst of fire signals his doom.
It's the terrible agony with which he is filled,
When learning a comrade has just been killed.
For when napalm, rockets, and other hard knocks,
Don't quite get Charlie out of those rocks.
When planes and ships and tanks have failed,
The man with the rifle will prevail.
It's the silent prayer late at night,
Dear God,
I did not ask for this fight,
But I take comfort in knowing we are right.
I pray that tonight will not have taken me in death,
I pray that at dawn I still have my breath,
I ask that when we are through with this strife,
At lest some men will know a better life.
When the bombs have stopped falling,
We shall hope to find,
A free Vietnam, a wiser mankind.

By Sgt. Warren W. Chan, RA 18911790
Company "D" (Mad Dogs Delta)
1st BN. 2nd BDE., 501st, Airborne Infantry
101^st Airborne Division
LZ Sally, South Vietnam
12 Dec. 1968