The Little Things

The LITTLE THINGS

 A cold Pepsi Cola, a hot steaming bath;
I never knew how much they meant.
Clear running water, a straight and paved path;
Didn't mean so much in past days spent.

Oh, how we long for the little things!

A dry place to sleep, a neighborhood store;
Why didn't I notice them all before?
A pair of dry socks, a carpeted floor;
To notice them all now is surely no chore.

Oh, how we long for the little things!

A nice cold freezer, filled with good food,
To call up a friend on the telephone,
Another crack at algebra, which I never understood,
To enjoy the warm wonderful feeling of home.

Oh, how we long for the little things!

To smell supper cooking when I get home at six,
The warm glow of sunshine in a girlfriend’s smile,
To stay all night fishing, just for a kick,
Or just to see an un-starved child...

Oh, how we long for the little things!

To sleep when it's night without fear of death,
To know that no foe sleeps within stone's throw,
To know that this lungful is not your last breath;
These are a few of the burdens we tow.

Oh, how we long for the little things!

We fighting men of South Vietnam
No longer take for granted these small things I've shown;
we’d give a month's pay for a sure day of calm,
And to have with us again all the buddies we've known.

Oh, how we thank God for the little things!

(The above poem was written by Stan Green, a Vietnam soldier,
three months before he was killed in action.)

 

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