From inland mountains to the salt-soaked shore, <br />From China's border to the southern plains, <br />The earth lies drenched in sweat and bloody gore, <br />And tears keep falling like the summer rains. <br /> <br />Where is the peace we offered to restore? <br />What have we done, and who has paid the price? <br />Two million bodies live and breathe no more, <br />And corpses rot in graves near fields of rice. <br /> <br />A father weeps; his only son is dead. <br />Small children cry; their mothers cannot come. <br />A boy is blinded; old rags swathe his head. <br />Young widows beg the mercy of Quan Am. <br /> <br />The Viet Cong's unconquered force descends <br />And settles on fair Saigon like a pall. <br />Her doom is sealed; her hope of freedom ends. <br />In Vietnam, this spring is called The Fall. <br /> <br />It's time to go. We push the clamor back, <br />Ignoring shrieks from those we leave behind. <br />We slam the gates against their frenzed attack <br />And flee the press of desperate humankind. <br /> <br />We did our best; our best did not suffice. <br />We look around at all we've lost, once more. <br />We head for home and grimly sacrifice <br />Another country to the god of war. <br /> <br /> <br />(In Remembrance of 4/30/75)<br /><br />Yen Cress<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/black-april/
