Daddy, have your ever cried?
* * * * *
Too often now after forty
and the third or fourth drink of the day
I remember the raid upon Vinh.
Large ships silently, swiftly
race from the dark Gulf of Tonkin
and into the day
and the bay before Vinh.
Far from the shore
out in the bay
small open boats with their fishermen
already at work in the morning
away from their homes here at Vinh.
Puzzled men stop to observe us
and stand as they brush past our sides
in our haste we can barely avoid them
as we rush on our way in toward Vinh.
Still far out in the bay
old coast guns start to range us
tall gray palms start to grow near the ships
the line turns port for the mission
and our guns come to bear upon Vinh.
From the cruiser black orange volcanoes
great bullets that can almost be seen
rapid fire joined by destroyers
blast the troops and the trucks in the convoys
as they make their way south here at Vinh.
With age you should fail to remember
what it was that was long in the past
the men in their boats
the shock and despair in their eyes as they watched us
and the smoldering City of Vinh
their smoldering City of Vinh.
