BUNKERIN’ BLUES— For CAPT (Ret.) George M.
“Brother, where’ve you been, say?”
I admit (err, confess)
As though it’s a sin.
Yes, it is winter
Cold wind’s howlin’ outside
But you know that even come Spring
(Summer too, I’ll still hide.)
It isn’t mere fear,
Nor lack of all care.
It’s rather the fact
That sometimes we’re not there.
See, we’ve given our “all”
Most all of the time.
So to go out with our guard down–
Might as well be a crime.
But lest the world sees
That hope’s fled from our soul.
We’ll leave it to our brothers,
To lift us out of this hole*.
(*With “Special Thanks” to R. Johnsey, once again, for lifting me out of mine.)