I wrote this for my father almost 40 years ago. There were two versions. One was submitted as part of the UN’s Poems for Peace.
“Old Badly”
My father rarely speaks of it
The hill they called Old Baldy
Nestled in the land of Korea
It comes to me in flat black and white
But for him the ringing of bullets continues
Incoming! he cried for many months after his return
With a ringing in his ears that never goes away
Or the wringing of blood from his clothes
Shed so badly he was forced to burn them
From carrying his best friend’s corpse off the line
He weeps when he speaks of it
His tower of strength crumbles
I do not know these horrors
I have been sheltered all my life
But woe to me to forget his tears
Excellent! Just Excellent 👍👌