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The corpsman’s going home today
He came through our aid station
They carry him slow, his feet go first
And ours is a lost sensation.
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The burial bag that he’s wrapped in
It’s dark, it’s damp, it’s cold
He’s not a hero, just a “DOCâ€
His story must be told.
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He came to this land months ago
Determination strong
To treat the wounded leathernecks
That fight the Viet Cong.
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His only job was:Â Treat the wounds
His mission:Â Save a life
His tools were not the tools of death
The bomb, the gun, the knife.
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He’s known the steaming jungle
Where hell’s wrath could unfold
He’s been on many a sweep and probe
Night ambush and patrol.
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A mission of mercy they call it
This sailor in camouflage greens
No hospital ship or dispensary
Just sharing hell with Marines.
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Some spend twenty years climbing mountains
They’re commonly seen in these lands
Where the life of death of a comrade
Is a fate, often held, in his hands.
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But fate is not always there with them
This corpsman, his future denied
O’er a wounded Marine he was treating
On a rock pile, there in Dong Ha, he died.
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Yes, He came by our place today
Tonight he’s crossing the foam
Beyond the call, he gave his all
The corpsman’s going home.
Â
Author Unknown
Somewhere, sometime, in a place called, Viet Namdiv
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