This long black wall is somber, true.
Name after name of those who died for you,
And as I sit and weep beneath a tree
I hear them scream, ‘REMEMBER ME'.

I touch the granite stone.  It's cold.
Their average age was but twenty years old.
They hardly left their mother's knee!
“Remember me.  PLEASE,  remember me”.

Vietnam was so very far away.
Their call was duty, not for play.
Our country had a pledge to keep.
They answered it.  We stayed to weep.

I reach to touch each name I can.
Some left, a boy; returned a man.
The others are upon this wall I see
I hear them whisper, “Remember me”.

–Esther B. (Campbell) Gates

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