Private Dribble died today
'twas in his 19th year
a nickname's all he left me with,
his name I didn't hear.
He couldn't speak, but as he died
he asked me with his eyes,
to reason out his passing;
find truth among the lies.
His death was less than gallant,
the conflict void of reason,
and rife with chair-borne rangers,
war profiteers, and treason.
So when he left me standing there
condemned to watch him die,
I didn't have an answer for
the simple question,
Written November, 1969, Nuy Ba Den firebase, Song Be, Viet Nam