A month of days, a year of nights. In the distance, Da Nang s city lights. A stark westerly wind, chills deep into the bone, The flares dot the sky, but the way is not shown.
Rats scurry and squeak, tis food and shelter they seek.
Against silent bags of sand, a well-oiled weapon leans. Nearby, on make-shift racks, Lie two sleeping Marines. Two others are outside, watching, waiting with hope, that this night no enemy, will advance up the slope. Their muscles ache, from vigilance so long. Soon the sun shall rise, its rays showing strong.