The Animal Grunt
by Keith Colville
With tools of destruction and death we hunt,
We the man-made animal called grunt.
Dirt, dust, ringworm and rash Humping all day, he wants to crash.
Mud and dirt makes his bed This army is all right someone said.
Off his leg he pulls a leech, Last year this time he was on Eagle Beach.
Sleep comes but not sound.
Never knowing when you’ll be found.
Morning comes without compassion
Once again the day begins with C Rations
The hunt begins, searching for the enemy Body count our credo,
mission first you see,
Contact is made then death and dying
Back home loved ones will be crying.
Here the hunt goes on each day He’s gone,
no longer does he hunt
No longer is he the man-made animal l called grunt.