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"The Man With the Rifle Knows"

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    "The Man With the Rifle Knows"

    Any one have a copy of this poem? I tried to access it from my favorites but the link is apparently no longer active.

    Men may argue forever on what wins their wars,
    And welter in cons and pros,
    And seek for their answer at history's door
    But the man with the rifle knows.

    He must stand on the ground on his own two feet,
    And he is never in doubt when it's won.
    If it's won he's there; if he's not it's defeat.
    That's the test when the fighting is done.

    When he carries the fight, it's not with the roar
    Of high armored wings spitting death.
    He creeps and he crawls on the earthen floor,
    Butt down and holding his breath.

    Saving his strength for the last low rush,
    Grenade throw, and bayonet thrust,
    And the whispered prayer, before he goes in,
    of a man who does what he must.

    And when he's attacked, he can't zoom away
    When the shells fill the air with their sound.
    He stays where he is, loosens his spade,
    and digs his defense in the ground.

    That ground isn't ours 'till he's there in the flesh.
    Not a gadget or a bomb, but a man.
    He's the answer to trite theories from those who
    weren't there
    With each new peace, since war began.

    And it isn't the fear; and it isn't the hope,
    The esprit, the disgrace, or the pride.
    It's just the fiber alone to go one more round
    After all the machines have died.

    So let the wild circle of argument rage
    On what wins, as war comes and goes.
    Many new theories briefly hold center stage
    But the man with the rifle knows.
    Welcome to the Addiction!


      Thanks JD.