If anyone has any poems or stories about Veterans (alive or dead) they would like to share I invite you to do so in the comment section or to send me an e-mail at:
asoulswalk@openmailbox.org
We are not as alone as we often think. Cheers.
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A Soul's Walk 
I love a fall morning like this one, cool, crisp, sky is clear the palest blue and its the only kind of morning I can really breath; but this is a story about another Autumn morn.
I met the parties involved in this story, months apart, and they told a similar tale by that I reckon it to be true.
It had been a day of horrific fighting, Viet Nam was like that at times; 144 men had taken a stand, 15 were left to evacuate. A young Lt., unmarked by the battle, was helping the wounded into helos. A blond marine private was approaching with an object rolled up in his blanket that was tucked under his left arm. “No souvenirs, Pvt.”
The Lt. opened the blanket and saw the remnants of an arm, from the elbow to mangled hand. “Not a souvenir, sir, its mine. Hate to leave it behind, I might need it, sir.”
They met again at Oak Knoll Naval Hospital, passed each other really, but the Private saw something in the Lt. eyes, “Lt., sir. How are you, sir?” Lifting his newly attached right arm, “See, sir, I told you it would come in handy. I almost got this damn thing working again. Good to see you again, sir.”
They walked to opposite ends of the long corridor, one man’s wounds might never heal, you could see it in his eyes.
Many, many heartfelt thanks to all the men and women that have served our country. As my granddad would say, “You done good.”
Here’s to them.