Money with Wings
Born 1946 the Big One was over
in the 50s we played with Lincoln logs
Korea was playing cymbals of hate
60s brought prom nights and passion
Vietnam hot and sweaty reared its head
jungles beckoned my youth, my dreams
dashed by a steel helmet
black boots climbed hills in Kentucky
youth stolen by the vulgarity of war
Now a million stars ago I sit in my recliner
watching a sad lady torched and crying.
America never failed me
not even in my darkest hours.
Growing old tells me no man changes.
Money lives on eternally,
Heaven writes a haughty epitaph
for those with jingling pockets.