Name upon name,

Row upon row,

Was all the veteran saw

as he stood 'neath the setting sun

At the Vietnam Memorial Wall.

The uniform he wore,

still bore the blood of long ago.

For not even the wall, you see,

could heal his wounds.

They, the common fighting men,

protected the freedoms of man with their pain.

And yet our backs were turned,

and our ears were blocked;

we couldn't see their pain

or hear their tortured screams.

When the lucky came home,

they marched in straight and tall -

only to be humbled by our scorn.

Those who died, we remembered with

purple hearts, silver stars

and a name on a giant, polished wall.

As his thoughts stood still, his hands moved swiftly,

placing a red, red rose beside each name.

When he had finished,

he looked to the heavens for help.

But looking up,

he could no longer see the sun,

for now it was lost,

in the shadows of ignorance.

A tear rolled down his cheek:

he wept for his friends

who lay 'neath six feet of Arlington soil,

Cross planted neatly on top

Name upon name,

Row upon row.