I thought I'd share this little poem I wrote this morning.
There isn't much to Olive Drab,
A pine needle looking green,
No shine, no glint, nothing sparkly,
It gives off no glimmering sheen,
But a color of such plain appearance,
Has gained with one accord,
The most glorious honor among our vets,
Both here and in the Mansions of the Lord.
The old OD covers everything,
A soldier ever uses,
His uniform, his tools, his helmet,
OD handles his abuses.
It shrouds him in its greenish cloak,
It hides soldier, kit, and truck,
It keeps hidden from his demise,
Blended with dirt and muck.
Olive Drab is a hero's color,
And even when it's chipped and faded,
It will make a heart beat red, white, and blue,
No matter how rusted or jaded,
And all who take the wrench in one hand,
And spray gun in the other,
Are heroes to a veteran,
And a keeper of a fallen brother.
Keep them flying, keep them driving,
Driver, mount your cab!
And proudly drive down the street,
In your truck of Olive Drab.
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