3-Oct-2003

Hang Tuff
By Mark W. Vance

A scarlet red Montana sun
Has cast its final ray,
Where in his last felt agony
A dying warrior lay.

A Darby Ranger, tried and true,
Whose will had ne’er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil
It’s steely strength had spent.

Such honors grace this weary face,
That hears, as life ebbs out,
“Well done my son, your task is o’er,
No longer need you doubt.

For what is Death? You’ve dared him oft
Before the gates of Hell,
At Chiunzi Pass in Italy …
North Africa as well.”

You stood against the Blackened Night,
When Right was raging hot,
And spurned it’s all consuming grasp;
Defied, and feared it not.

But now the flame … it flickers faint,
While Brothers vigil hold,
A bard doth sing, to guard your name
As sentinels of old.

Where shooting stars like glories fall,
Along the emblazoned hall.

Poem courtesy: Ranger Mark W. Vance September 30, 2003
(C 2/75 '75-'77, Class 7-76)
Dedicated to: Ranger Earl Morris