A VETERANS HOPE
by R. Craven
I hope there’s a place way up in the sky,
Where veterans can go, when they have to die.
A place where a guy can buy a cold beer,
For a friend and comrade, whose memory is dear.
A place where no doctor or lawyer can tread,
Nor a veteran affairs type would ere be caught dead.
Just a quaint little place, kind of dark, a little smoke
Where they like to sing and have a good joke.
The kind of place where a lady could go,
And feel safe and protected by the men she would know.
There must be a place where old vets go,
When their pain is finished and their walk gets slow.
Where the whiskey is old and once again we are young,
And songs about war and comrades are sung.
Where you see all the fellows you have known before and,
They call out your name, as you come through the door.
Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad,
And say to the others "He was quite a good lad."
And then through the mist, you spot an old guy,
You have not seen in years and you realize the past has gone by.
He would nod his head, and grin from ear to ear,
And say "Welcome buddy, I’m pleased that you’re here,
For this is the place where veterans come.
When their journey is over and the war has been won."
They’ve come here to be happy and get a good rest,
This is heaven, my son…you’ve passed your last test.