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I knew a man
called David.
He was killed many years ago
near a village named Xuyen Moc.
To us all it was a blow.
He left behind a wife and child
who lived in Adelaide town.
I wonder how they've managed
all these years he's not been 'round?
His daughter would be a woman now;
Lord, how the time does fly.
It's sad she'll never know her Dad,
he was the one destined to die.
Across the seas in a far off land
at the hand of the dreaded VC.
His lifeblood ebbing from him
before friends could help, you see.
I saw his grave and shed a tear,
his name in bronze I saw.
A man who gave his life for us
in that damned Vietnam War.
© 30 June 2001
W. Turner
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