This poem touched my family to the horrors that our Father and others have endured at this overlooked battle for the Army. Since it was connected to Chosin, I wanted to use the poem in an up and coming display that has so far exceeded 7 months at various libraries( and now in February 2001, I turn over the display to the Korean War Veterans Association which will further to tell the story). Well, back in June, I was lucky enough to meet the author, Bob Hammond, at the Chosin Few Reunion in Lancaster. I gave Bob a copy of his poem with original artwork by my sister which depicts the mountains of the reservoir as an American Eagle. Bob explained that the "Chosin Reservoir" is actually is a song, and after the reunion, Bob sent me a cassette of the song. I found out that Bob Hammond passed away in November, 2000 from a massive heart attack. I am honored that I had the privilege of meeting Mr. Hammond.

At Chosin, only Bob survived out of his squad of 7 men.

The Chosin Reservoir


By Bob Hammond
7th Infantry Division
57th Field Artillery Battalion

In The hills of North Korea,
By the lake of azure blue.
Rides a farmer in his ox-cart,
On the road to Hagaru.

He is singing songs of history,
That his Father taught to him.
As his eyes survey the scenery,
That's no longer gray and grim.

In his mind he hears the canons,
The recoiless rifle's roar.
In the chatter on the burp guns,
All around the Reservoir.

Mortars crashing, carbines flashing,
Screaming men and boys.
Bugles, flairs and howlitzers,
A symphony of noise.

He is thinking of his childhood,
When he saw the soldier come.
To the peaceful mountain valley,
That had never heard a gun.

And he's never understood it,
He will always wonder why.
Why so many men had come there,
from so far away, to die.

How they fought with savage fury,
Agonizing through the snow,
Fingers turning black with frostbite,
Death was sweeping to and fro.

MacLean and Faith, Commanders,
Hodge, and thousands more.
Fought and froze,
And bled to death,
At the Chosin Reservoir.

In the hills of North Korea,
By a lake of icy blue.
There's no monument to witness,
And no crosses are in view.

Just some land of little value,
Covered well by fallen snow.
But they say to listen carefully,
When the wind begins to blow.

And you will hear the ghostly bugles,
From the mountain pass, nearby.
You may hear the battle spreading,
from the mountains to the sky.

Lives were ending, futures pending,
Fate was casting dice.
Some would live, and some will die,
Karma, carved in ice.

The battle long is over now,
But fought each night anew.
In dreams of those who can't forget,
They're called, "The Chosin Few".

So, let the veterans tell their stories,
Let the legend live and grow.
Let the Chosin be remembered,
With the men of Alamo.

With Bastogne and with Wake Island,
And the Bunker Hill command.
And where there's courageous men,
To take a valiant stand.

Once they fought to save a nation,
They could not have offered more.
Than the sacrifices made there,
At the Chosin Reservoir.

In the bitter Bloody battles,
At the Chosin Reservoir.

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