A friend of mine is going to die Friday. He is  in the VA hospital  in Nashville Tenn. He is my age and he is a hero.

In 1968 his friends and neighbors decided that with out his help we could not win the  in Southeast Asia.

They may have been right.

Bruce Ambrose went to Viet Nam--Sarge came back.  And the two never really meet again. Sarge got a Silver Star when he lost three fingers on his right hand while defusing a land mind..

When Sarge came back he found a country that didn’t love him or need him.

But he kept the one thing that mattered -his service. His only comfort -a  bottle of whiskey.

We were finally able to get him to sit down long enough  so we could get  him his disability and benefits, even got  him  $16,00 in back pay.

But he drank that up-its what killed him or will in a few hours.

And when I die

I will still be your son

And when I die

The one that carried  your gun

And when I die

I will be buried in

Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq

And Afghanistan when I die.

And when I die

I’ll be the lucky one

Because I’ll never know

Because of politics we never won

And when I die

I’ll never sit on a bench Or a highway overpass

Flag in one hand  a cup in the other

Asking can you help me my brother

And when I die

I will be buried in a paupers grave

The VA will make sure I am buried deep

A folded flag my family just might keep

And  when I die

I won’t be the only forgotten one

One day each year you might read my name

But I will still be your son

And when I die

It doesn’t matter where I lay

I bought that piece of  land for us

Because when I die and shed my blood

That  is my America

An when I die

Well they pulled the plug on Sarge.  He died. I don’t know if he went to heaven, but I hope he did. Because I know that in Heaven there is place called stand down where old vets can finally find peace.

I just hope he saves a place for me.

I apologize to the real poets here. Like red wolf. But in whiskey comes truth and it is what it is.