To sea sprayed rolling hills,

Free again to walk paved boulevards,

And dusty lanes of long ago youth.

Of brick hard red clay which during monsoon became the mire of life,

Of wind flung dust which abraded gear, food, and courage,

Of equatorial sun which desiccated skin, minds and resolve.

With friends who live still in the crystal clarity of youth,

With families who struggle to recognize the man I have become,

With a beloved who knows her darling of is no longer with her,

With children whose innocence perceive my elemental fear,

With comrades lost in combat or to an indifferent world.

To sing the songs of life,

To hear the sounds of children's joy,

To walk the hills of home,

To smell newly turned earth,

To see clearly the way home...