Just a whine then a phut! Was the last sound he heard
As his body hit the ground.
No one was to notice not even the birds
As his blood spilled all around
No bier for him, no bugle call
No grave with its fine engraved cross.
No one would notice he wasn’t around
Truth is no one gave a toss.
At eighteen years he was hardly a man
Had never known love, only hate
Hadn’t really seen life since leaving high school
Not even a first serious date
Yet here he had died in this tropical mire
Not when or who by
Just lay on his back, his face to the sky.
Sightless eyes asking the question, why!
The rest of the troop had forged on ahead.
Not one of them dared to look back’
While today they try to remember the name of the man
Who they left on that dark jungle track.
More than forty years on and there’s nothing left
Of his being there is not trace
So we console ourselves repeating over again.
O’ please God, never again, what a waste