(For Harold Davis aka ‘Weasel’
08.07.1944 – 06.11.05)
Every reason to be filled with hate
all the blows he would silently take.
From a father whose lust should have
warped his mental health;
From a mother whom punished
with a switch he cut himself.
Instead he grew to be a quiet man,
a forgotten hero who fought for this land.
A son whose love held no earthly bounds,
and greater compassion will never again be found.
His dearest wish was to find an heir;
his wisdom of life to be carried on there.
His greatest desire was to aid those he loved,
And maybe earn a room in the Heavens above.
To the outside observer, he was a simple man;
Yet he was first to wield his sword
when a battle was at hand.
He was unstoppable by bullets or bombs
as he cleverly evaded the Viet-Cong.
His strength and courage never wavered
as the cancer kept its hold,
it’s taken more than ten years
but God finally called him home.