The Ballad of Sam Bede
(c) 2009 James P Louviere
The last soldier had walked down the gangplank
And Sam Bede was sweeping the pier,
When he stooped and he picked up a letter --
It seemed to be stained with a tear. . . .
It said "17 April in '71,
Somewhere in South Vietnam,"
And though it was wrinkled and faded,
It was written in quite a strong hand.
It said, "Mother, I've given my best,
I've done what they told me to do,
A soldier defending my country,
A son loving you proud and true. . . .
"Well the enemy struck us last Tuesday,
We struggled with muscles and knives.
Though I killed one, he struck me, I'm dying
When you read this I won't be alive.
"But remember I died in a struggle
To keep folks like you proud and free,
And though I'll be gone when you get this,
A small nation somewhere will be free."
The porter looked 'round himin silence --
No crowds cheered the heroes' return;
The buddy who'd carried that letter so long
Thought he'd done someone a good turn,
For he'd thrown it away undelivered,
Its message too bitter to read,
But the porter, he kissed those proud pages,
From Sam Jr. to Mrs. Sam Bede.
Yes, the porter, he kissed those proud pages,
From Sam Jr. to Mrs. Sam Bede.
Now he's gone,
Now he's gone,
Now he's gone, like the rest, they're all gone. . . .
Now he's gone,
Yes, he's gone,
Now he's gone. J PL
All Rights Reserved
