Woodrow W. Edwards, Jr.
The Plight Of America's Finest
Poem by Woodrow W. Edwards, Jr.
The Soldier, a forgiving soul.
The substance of an ancient mold.
Though over worked and under paid,
their loyalty remains unscathed.
The Army, the Navy, the Air Force, the Marines,
a few proud men and women, being all that they can be.
Whether on our home-front or abroad
they serve to heed our nation's call.
The military cares for its own,
or so we've been taught to believe.
When they find that they no longer need you
then, you'll find that you've been deceived.
You've performed as you were ordered,
some put their lives on the line.
Our Congress enjoys an increase in pay.
but for yours, there's no funds, there's no time.
Her saving are gone. His home is lost.
You're dying from some unknown cause.
The Military Doctors, they can't find a thing.
Their diagnosis, "You're malingering".
You need not look too far to see
a Veteran living in poverty.
You've done what you were asked to do.
What will our leaders do for you?
Some soldiers return home to face
an added problem, one of race.
Some families live in constant fear.
their neighbors, they don't want them here.
One buys a home and settles down,
bigots want to burn his house to the ground.
Our countrymen, they fight side by side
to make other nations free,
only to return to the prejudices of our own society.
Its time we showed appreciation
to those defending our great nation.
Heads of state should make provisions
to give our soldiers due recognition.
The freedom that we all enjoy.
we owe to those that we've deployed.
On land, in the skies, on the Ocean too.
Our Soldiers protect THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.
Comments about The Plight Of America's Finest by Woodrow W. Edwards, Jr.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.