photo courtesy Jane Slavin

Hang Tuff

By Mark W. Vance  

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  A scarlet red Montana sun

Has cast its final ray,

Where in his last felt agony

A dying warrior lay.

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A Darby Ranger, tried and true,

Whose will had ne’er been bent

By wasting pain, till time and toil

It’s steely strength had spent. 

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Such honors grace this weary face,

That hears, as life ebbs out,

“Well done my son, your task is o’er,

No longer need you doubt.

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For what is Death?  You’ve dared him oft

Before the gates of Hell,

At Chiunzi Pass in Italy …

North Africa as well.”

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You stood against the Blackened Night,

When Right was raging hot, 

And spurned it’s all consuming grasp;

Defied, and feared it not.

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But now the flame … it flickers faint,

While Brothers vigil hold,

A bard doth sing, to guard your name

As sentinels of old.

Where shooting stars like glories fall, 

Along the emblazoned hall.

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Poem courtesy: Ranger Mark W. Vance September 30, 2003

(C 2/75 '75-'77, Class 7-76)

Dedicated to: Ranger Earl Morris