Having conscripted these boys, this children’s militia,
A modern day children’s crusade of these unprivileged,
They spat on these valiant young men upon their return
Heaping scorn and disrespect upon these returning souls
Discarded by America with disdain like so much rubbish
No fireworks bursting, no bands playing, no parades—
Just a generation of heads bowed, bodies wounded in war
Gentle spirits pilfered and broken in rice paddies far away.