Missing 8 Poem by Granville Holt

Some say good morning Vietnam, not me,
I never saw one December to June,
Everything smelled of rot and death was free,
Sleep came with night sweats under Sun or Moon.

Hot heat dust or Monsoon rain on your skin,
Charlie was too stubborn to "di di mao",
We fought to "chu hoi" them like dead men,
We just wanted to get back home somehow.

From rice paddy to canopy jungle
Each boot step was toward your own lost grave
A wakeup call away your dreams crumble
When those 11 BRAVO soldiers die brave

I lie awake looking into Hells gate
Thinking of my Brothers, the missing 8!

SGT Aquilar, Mike John
PFC Carr, Clint Edwin
SP4 Dunning, Dennis Gyman
PFC Hayes, Dale Lamont
SP4 Henaghan, William Frederic
SP4 Lahner, Thomas Allan
PFC Lydic, David Allen
PVT Rivera-Agosto, Efrain