Duffel Bags

by Victor J. Miller

Sgt., Co. E, 5th Ranger Battalion, U.S.A.

A chill breeze swept o'er me last night, it made me look around.

There I saw eight duffel bags tossed upon the ground.

Yes, eight sodden duffel bags thrown up in a stack-

The only outward sign there was that we didn't all get back.

As I gazed at those mute duffel bags, I slipped into a trance.

I thought of all my comrades who would nevermore leave France.

There was "Tex"-a "new man"-I had always thought he'd scare;

But when the lead was flying thick, "Tex" was right in there.

There was also Little Shorty, "Mister Five-by-Five".

He was the butt of all our jokes, while he was still alive.

A cook came to our company, he didn't look for fame.

He fought and died to help us out, and I never knew his name.

Don't forget Poncho, foreign born, a native of Old Spain.

He gave his all to Uncle Sam, would we all do the same?

Our machine gun squad lay in a hole, fighting side by side.

Then mortar shells rained all around, and both of them, they died.

I know duffel bags aren't human; but they speak this tale of woe:

"We shall always fight with might for right, but some of us must go".

      -----   Victor J. 'Baseplate' Miller



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