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Through the travail of the ages,
Midst the pomp and toil of war,
Have I fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.
In the form of many people
In all panoplies of time
Have I seen the luring vision
Of the Victory Maid, sublime.
I have battled for fresh mammoth,
I have warred for pastures new,
I have listed to the whispers
When the race trek instinct grew.
I have known the call to battle
In each changeless changing shape
From the high souled voice of conscience
To the beastly lust for rape.
I have sinned and I have suffered,
Played the hero and the knave;
Fought for belly, shame, or country,
And for each have found a grave.
I cannot name my battles
For the visions are not clear,
Yet, I see the twisted faces
And I feel the rending spear.
Perhaps I stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet, I've called His name in blessing
When after times I died.
In the dimness of the shadows
Where we hairy heathens warred,
I can taste in thought the lifeblood;
We used teeth before the sword.
While in later clearer vision
I can sense the coppery sweat,
Feel the pikes grow wet and slippery
When our Phalanx, Cyrus met.
Hear the rattle of the harness
Where the Persian darts bounced clear,
See their chariots wheel in panic
From the Hoplite's leveled spear.
See the goal grow monthly longer,
Reaching for the walls of Tyre.
Hear the crash of tons of granite,
Smell the quenchless eastern fire.
Still more clearly as a Roman,
Can I see the Legion close,
As our third rank moved in forward
And the short sword found our foes.
Once again I feel the anguish
Of that blistering treeless plain
When the Parthian showered death bolts,
And our discipline was in vain.
I remember all the suffering
Of those arrows in my neck.
Yet, I stabbed a grinning savage
As I died upon my back.
Once again I smell the heat sparks
When my Flemish plate gave way
And the lance ripped through my entrails
As on Crecy's field I lay.
In the windless, blinding stillness
Of the glittering tropic sea
I can see the bubbles rising
Where we set the captives free.
Midst the spume of half a tempest
I have heard the bulwarks go
When the crashing, point blank round shot
Sent destruction to our foe.
I have fought with gun and cutlass
On the red and slippery deck
With all Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.
And still later as a General
Have I galloped with Murat
When we laughed at death and numbers
Trusting in the Emperor's Star.
Till at last our star faded,
And we shouted to our doom
Where the sunken road of Ohein
Closed us in it's quivering gloom.
So but now with Tanks a'clatter
Have I waddled on the foe
Belching death at twenty paces,
By the star shell's ghastly glow.
So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, but always me.
And I see not in my blindness
What the objects were I wrought,
But as God rules o'er our bickerings
It was through His will I fought.
So forever in the future,
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more.
by Gen. George S. Patton, Jr.
Hello-
I am Leila Hunt-Willingham, proud sister of SPC Jason Dean Hunt, who lost his life on November 5th at Ft. Hood.
My mother and I would just like to express our sincere gratitude for the extremely generous gift that you sent her. The hope chest filled with blankets and stuffed animals and cards, as well as the EXTREMELY generous gift card, remain one of the most unbelievable and meaningful gifts we have ever received. To ship it alone - oh my!!
When my brother was killed, we received plants upon flowers upon more plants. We kindly requested that in lieu of flowers, that people would please make donations to your organization, Soldiers Angels instead. One of my friends in California actually suggested it to us, and we were more than thrilled to take up that idea. Not knowing much about your organization before this happened, we were thrilled to see such a thing existed.
We never expected it to become the kind of blessing and gift that you have given us in return. Our hopes were just that you would receive some donations in my brother's honor to help other soldiers or families who have experienced the saddest thing a family can experience.
Words cannot express how your act of generosity has touched us and comforted us. To know that an organization like yours provides the comfort that you have provided us, makes us so passionate about what you do for others.
Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, for the overwhelmingly kind and beautiful gifts. They will be treasured forever.
I plan to write more about how grateful we are on my blog that I started in my brother's honor, that is visited by several dozens of my friends. I took some pictures of the chest and blankets in my mom's new house today, and I will post them there. She just moved closer to me after my brother was killed, and this is an absolutely charming and warming piece in her new home.
www.writingforj.blogspot.com
Sincerely and Respectfully Yours,
Leila Hunt-Willingham, Proud Sister of Jason Dean Hunt and
Gale Hunt, Proud mother of Jason Dean Hunt May no soldier go unloved.
May no soldier walk alone.
May no soldier be forgotten,
Until they all come home.
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