by Cpl. Robert L. Cook
Jan. 42~Sept. 45
When I step out my door
And chill wind hits my skin,
My mind goes back
To the days
Of misery
At Chosin.
We drove the foe
To the Yalu
And nearly had it made,
When hordes of men
With yellow skin
Came screaming
To the place.
We firmly stood our ground
And fought with
All our skill,
We could not overcome
The masses of men
To kill.
The way to safer ground
Was long and it was cold,
But we had the will
To fight the foe
And so we did hold.
The lads were froze
And needed food
And a warm place
For to sleep,
For on the trails
Of hard travails
The snow was cold
And deep.
To them
It was
A second hell,
For they'd been there before.
For some had fought
In torrid climes
No better or no worse.
The long days
Passed in grim retreat,
They lived with
Frozen hands and feet.
They carried home
The wounded
And they carried home
The dead,
For no Marine is left
Upon the field,
This must be said.
In time
They all left the field
And drew a line in the sand.
'Tis here we stand
Or here we die
We surrender
To no man.
The line still stands
Between the lands
Guarded and secure,
A grim reminder
Of the past,
Let it e're endure.
Semper Fi!
* * *
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.
