OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD

 

OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD

A Poem dedicated to the memory

of SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon. National Guardswoman. K.I.A., Saudi Arabia, 1^st Gulf War

SSG William Royce McDonald (Ret.)

 

He trod the snow with Washington,

his feet were numb with pain

He fired the shot heard round the world,

the prize he sought, he gained

 

My brother wore the Union blue,

as he climbed Henry Hill

My comrade word the Rebel gray,

as his heart lay cold and still

 

The Guardsman packed his duffel bag

at Uncle Sam’s request

Through years to come the Fueher’s men

would give him little rest

 

In the skies of Vietnam,

his wings were swept with fog

A missile arced, a pilot died,

and touched the face of God

 

Someone tapped her shoulder

and said, “It is your turn,”

In his hand a worn baton,

“The race is not quite won.”

 

And though she would lose family,

and though she would lose friends

And though she would lose life itself,

her hand she did extend

 

Her teammate was still struggling

to match her faster gait

And as he passed baton to her,

he fell to seal his fate

 

And as she clutched that hallowed prize,

the wood was red and scarred

He whispers as he ends his watch,

“Oh yes, I was the Guard”

 

It was her turn to run the race,

beneath a foreign sun

Her ship had weathered every rack,

the prize she sought, she won

 

It was her turn to set the pace

across the burning sand

What Guard will dare to take her place,

which one extends his hand?