I remember Pickett's charge and the lead filled air,
brother against brother, falling side by side there.
I remember San Juan Hill and Teddy's hearty yell,
we lost more men to yellow fever in that jungle hell.
I remember the winter of' '18 trying to hold the line.
Mud, gas, and pneumonia, next shell could be mine.
I remember the hell of Omaha Beach with dread,
the air so filled with fury and the water bloody red.
I remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki in horror,
the death of civilians would bring an end to war.
I remember freezing above the 38th Parallel line.
Though we made the Yalu, we lost it all in time.
I remember rotting, somewhere near Da Nang,
as Charlie snuck on in while Bob Dylan sang.
I remember reaching Baghdad, calling Saddam’s hand.
Desert Storm blew back to Kuwait, like the desert sand.
I remember Somalia sun, Mogadishu shining by the sea.
Our dead soldiers dragged through the streets with glee.
I remember the shock and awe as we rolled into town.
Four years later and counting, IED surprises abound.
I never served and went to war, but I remember well,
History has taught me—the glory of war is only its hell.
Photo Courtesy NBC
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2006 © Ronald W. Hull