The unknown inheritance of a war in prose, poetry, and photographs.
The Valley of Sorrows
The Que Son Valley was like no other
Took your sons took your brothers
Stole your dreams ruined lives
Made widows out of wives.
For all who walked away they live within it every day
Smell the hedgerows dig the holes
Cross the river that flowed
Still see the blood on their clothes
Hear the mortars and incoming rounds
Watch the choppers hit the ground
Watch as they fly away
Early morning here we stay
Memories that do not fade
The Que Son Valley was an early grave.
