The following poem was submitted to our website on 02/08/2008

By Wayne Lund 7 April 2005

As a young soldier I was sent off to fight in that far off foreign land. Because our President wants to show the world the U.S.A. will make a stand. While traveling down a highway, shrapnel and bullets start flying around, The only safe thing to do is abandon the vehicles and hug the ground. Crawling through the hot sand, maneuvering around, just trying to stay low, Returning fire, there's heavy fighting when suddenly I felt a sharp blow. Looking down I saw I was bleeding from pieces of shrapnel in my leg and hip, Crying out for a medic, while waiting I'm holding my rifle in a deadly grip. When the medic finished cleaning and bandaging my wounds he cheerfully sighed, You're very lucky soldier, if these wounds were any higher up you could have died. After a long stay in the hospital, I'm slowly healing as I'm trying to recuperate and get some rest. If asked about the war all I will ever say is that I was damn proud to have served with the best.