When the wind howled up our backs from off the Yellow Sea, you said you were there. Yet I remember only the Koreans and me.

And when my face turned blue from cold, you said, "I sit here by my fireplace, and I think of you."

And on sleepless nights when the monsoon came, and I never knew if I could bear the pain of another day of patrol, another minute of dread, another second of hell, did you think of me as I thought of you?

And in summer rice, when my sleeping sack was filled with lice, did you think of me as I thought of you?  I missed you in the mud-covered roads, behind the mounted cold rings of steel, in troubled times where the brave dared not walk.

I missed you near the minefields of Panmunjom. Did you think of me as I thought of you? I missed you in the jeeps. We could have seen the hunger on the lips of the villagers parched and cracked.

I missed you at Kumchon, three feet deep in the mud. And you weren’t in the riots of Munson. But did you think of me as I thought of you?

And where were you when the little beggars peered with gray, gaunt eyes through the freezing mists and I cringed and clenched my fists with pain? Did you think of me as I thought of you?

And when the endless days and nights of winter were done, and my haggard health would cry No More! Did you think of me as I thought of you?

And in spring, did you wish to be there in the rain, the sleet and mud till you were wracked with feverish fire? I thought of you. As you thought of me? And in summer. I’m sure you thought of me when the dust caked my face as I prepared for my last patrol.

And with the whine of an AK-47 bullet slamming me back out of the jeep and down, did you think of me as I thought of you? You and your peace parade. And me with my face in the mud, and the smell of rice in my lungs for one last time, did you think of me as I thought of you?

And when my eyes glazed then closed, did you think of me as I thought of you.