Three soldiers sit in silence - Staring into the night -
Shivering inside themselves - Not wanting others to see their fright -
The whispers of the gentle wind - The jungles mournful moan -
Makes men on listening post - Feel especially alone -
A gentle hand on the shoulder - "Did you hear what I just heard?" -
Was it the hated Viet Cong? - A tiger, or just a bird? -
The young Sergeant sweats - As he stared through Jungle mist -
In one hand his rifle - claymore clacker in other fist -
Then came that sound again - Was it really the Viet Cong? -
So he just squeezed that clacker - With the explosion movement gone -
So all you LP Troopers - Out where the cruel wind blows -
Remember whence that claymore blasts - Nothing ever grows -
Don't listen to the bunker fool - In the morn no bodies found -
Never hesitate to squeeze the clacker - At any unknown sound -
Ten claymores can be blown - Only once Cong blood is spilled -
But it's a far distance being wrong - Than being shot and killed -
So all you good Commanders - Damn the supply guy's complaint -
Let the LP blow with abandon - Even "hit them where they ain't" -

Copyright 1998, by Mark A. Smith, Major, USA, Retired

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