The Golden War Chip

When I hold this chip I think of Grandad Ian,
His golden star that glistens in the night,
A memory of how they had to fight
And say goodbye to loved ones.

I also ponder the fallen, the injured, hurt and scarred
The maimed with numerous horrid wounds
The deadly hell of the Vietnam war;
Though no longer riding chinooks and choppers
They still could hear the sound
Deafened by the cries of the lost,
Those who were never found.

So now when I hold it I feel for the families
And the memory of the men
And I really hope it won’t happen
In my life time again.
Grandad Ian my inspiration to the end.

Now golden war chip that I hold
I feel so lucky that your in my hand.