by Cpl. Robert L. Cook
Jan. 1942~Sept. 1945
Don’t reckon I will slog along
With our rugged troops,
To evaluate myself
I ain’t worth a poop.
My legs give out
In one damn mile,
I can’t march
With any style,
I’m glad when I get back
To my front door.
I ‘member when
I was a boot
And fell out
To march the route
With full pack
And a gun to shoot
And there upon my head
A pot of iron.
We made all
Those fifteen miles
And came back in
With a laugh and smiles
Like we were on
Picnic for the day.
‘Course I must admit
That I was a tough
Little shit
Who wasn’t yet dry
Behind the ears.
With time and a hardass Sarge
I became a considerable
Marine.
I do not like to see myself
A standin’ before the mirror.
I see all the weakness
That time did not endure.
They say that I’m lucky
To be in the shape I’m in,
The years that I have garnered
Are light upon my skin.
Most faculties
Are still in place
Though show some sign
Of wear.
So, here’s to the good ol’ days
‘Fore we were old and gray.
As long as memory
Holds out,
We will always be
That way.
* * *
About the author: Robert Cook served with Reg. Weapons Co.(2d-2d) from 1942~44, at Guadalcanal
and Tarawa, during a 33-month overseas tour.
