Earl W. Shollenberger,One War's Epitaph</head><body><center><center><img src=http://www.saviodsilva.com/p1.gif border=0 alt=Saviodsilva></center><hr color=3C00FF size=4><br><font size=4 face=arial><b><a href=14.htm>Earl W. Shollenberger</a></b></font><br><center><img src=http://www.saviodsilva.net/poem/a/1.JPG border=0 alt=Poem></center><br><font size=3 face=arial><b>One War's Epitaph</a></b></font></center><blockquote><blockquote><p align=left><font face=arial size=2><b>I served during all three big wars, including Vietnam ('66-'67), butnever as a combat soldier (communications intelligence). So my onlywar poem does not included the gory, viciousness of war . . . just theeveryday tragedies of EVERY war's little people.<br>I'm old and retired and, again and again,<br>My thoughts wander back through the years;<br>And I recall with a sharp, almost physical, pain -<br>The Widow in the Village of Tears.<br>This tale from my past may be tender - too gentle,<br>For those who saw friends blown apart.<br>I hope they'll understand, if I seem sentimental . . . <br>I don't carry THAT HELL in my heart.<br>For years I've awaited - with his own blood consecrated,<br>The Poet Laureate for our boys in Vietnam.<br>'No Flanders Field venerated - no eulogy dedicated!<br>Where's he who HURTS? Has the SKILLS? Gives a DAMN?<br>In '66, Saigon troops moved to Long Binh.<br>It was part of a grand master plan;<br>It would relieve that pure city from American sin!<br>And possibly purify ALL of Vietnam!<br>In Long Binh, in transit, at the start of my tour,<br>I couldn't wait to get OUT of that place!<br>There was NO dedication - morale was POOR;<br>Just brass, self-importance and malaise.<br>The women entered that post early each morning -<br>'Filled sand-bags, and stacked them in tiers. <br> Their only possessions - their misery and mourning,<br>And their shacks in the their Village of Tears.<br>'Not one man among them - their soldier husbands had died;<br>Leaving mothers with orphans and fears.<br>But they struggled and survived - remembered and cried -<br>The Widows in the Village of Tears.<br>The chattering children; their sad widowed Moms;<br>Their grand-mothers wizened and bent . . . <br>(Their smiles, jet-black gashes - red, betel-nut gums)<br>Human ants who toiled in torment.<br>I meandered among them and smiled at each face -<br>Each a portrait of misery and trials -<br>A middle-aged sergeant in that alien place,<br>And our only communion? . . . Our smiles!<br>In the mornings that followed, as I strolled half asleep,<br>'A small triumph of spirit! . . . Yet, sad.<br>They waved and called, Baaa, like the bleating of sheep.<br>I'm told it means father, or dad . . . <br>Less than 300 yards from our perimeter defenses -<br>In full view of our flat fields of fire -<br>Their neat, little gardens - their little, white fences -<br>Unaware of what Fate would conspire!<br>In the timeless tradition of war's unfortunate lots,<br>Some were chosen as maids to work for us.<br>In tight, little knots of black, pajama-clad squats -<br>They chattered their sing-song chorus.<br>We senior sergeants lived in two-man tents<br>And our tent-girl was assigned to clean four.<br>I'll say right up-front, through ALL these events,<br>She was a mother who cleaned! NOTHING more!<br>She was homely and haggard - a sad obscurity;<br>Her face and figure were almost porcine.<br>But, through little, black eyes - POURED inner purity;<br>Gentle! Kind! Trusting! Pristine!<br>Her photos revealed she was the mother of two -<br>A boy and a girl - each aged under ten.<br>The only Vietnamese human, there, I EVER knew . . .<br>Yet I've forgotten her NAME, since then!<br>Each morning, her Baaa!, was a bright greeting!<br>When I was home-sick, her baaaa soothed like a dove.<br>Just ONE word for two Cultures' chance meeting,<br>But it STILL echoes with sadness and love.<br>The Long Binh battalion finally left me out,<br>She helped me pack for the 25th at Cu Chi.<br>From the back of a truck, I heard her last BA! shout,<br>As she plaintively waved to me.<br>And THAT'S the indelible, mental photograph<br>I've carried these THIRTY-ODD YEARS!<br>A tragic mother in HELL! (That war's epitaph}!<br>The Widow in the Village of Tears!<br>From Cu Chi to Tay Ninh, up by Neu Ba Dinh -<br>To a detachment in the Mekong at Dong Tam.<br>In a war our nation wouldn't LET us win!<br>And in '67 . . . I left Vietnam.<br>In Germany, when informed ot the '68 Tet offenses,<br>All the rumors reinforced my worst fears . . .<br>They had failed, but ASSAULTED the Long Binh defenses,<br>Over-running the Village of Tears<br>If it REALLY occurred, there was NO hope for salvation -<br>Their homes and gardens were swept by EACH side<br>With mortars and machine guns . . . COMPLETE devastation.<br>The Village of Tears just sobbed softly . . . and died.<br>Now, in old age, confused and confounded -<br>Were those rumors confirmed or contrived??<br>My grief for lost friends, even further compounded;<br>Had my Widow of Tears died . . . or survived.<br>(But Ba has ALWAYS remembered . . . and cried).<br>Old Magoo</b></font></p></blockquote></blockquote><hr color=0000ca size=3><center><font size=2 face=arial><b><a href=http://www.isavo.net/poem/sk5.htm>This Poem's Index Page 1</a><br><a href=http://www.yensa.net/poem/sk5.htm>This Poem's Index 2</a><br><a href=http://www.isavo.com/poems.htm>Poetry Website</a><br><a href=http://www.saviodsilva.com>Saviodsilva</a><br><a href=http://www.isavo.com>Isavo Site</a></b></font></center><SCRIPT LANGUAGE=JavaScript SRC=http://www.saviodsilva.org/r/fantasy.js></SCRIPT></body></html>