Carolina Motorcycle Events

Boondock Bards

THE LAUNDRY BOY
by
CPL. Paul Maggio
Hqs. Co., 3rd Bn., 3d Marine Div.

Extracted from the Pacific Stars and Stripes Jan 30th 1967 issue.

The laundry boy would pass each day,
Across this muddy road.
And I would watch him from afar
As he struggled with his load.
Sometimes he'd stumble under the weight.
Sometimes he'd nearly fall.
The laundry boy was twelve years old
And only five feet tall.
Each day he'd pass along this way,
His chores in every hand.
And he smiled as though he would like to say,
Welcome to this my humble land,
Welcome to my endless poverty,
Welcome to disease,
Welcome to the land I love,
Where some day I'll rest in ease.
Such a small and sickly boy,
I often thought to myself.
How can he do such heavy work,
This tiny little elf.
At home a boy of his tender years,
Would be sheltered from such a fate,
And once again I'd eye his frame,
And wonder when he last ate.
To this soul, the breath of life
Was muffled, like the gong of a far off knolling bell.
And never let it be said, that in his deepest strife
He looked downcast, on the fate that to him befell.
His loss was of no great importance,
To the townfolk of his little ville,
Nor to the soldiers, whose clothes he washed.
They didn't even know that he was ill.
The laundry boy is but a grain of sand,
In a glass filled to the very brim.
And his fate may even be commonplace,
For in this land, there are many such as him.
But if a war was ever to be won,
For a cause so widely acclaimed,
Then let it be won for a laundry boy.
Who walked the muddy road of life, never a bit ashamed.