The Silent Watch

The kilted man stood silent watch,
His eye upon the moor;
An eye almost as blue as the
Buchanan blue he wore.

His heart beat fast now as he saw
The red-clad British men,
And knew deep down he’d never see
His precious kin again.

The son of Walter swore he’d never
Have to fight nor kill,
Nor Scottish blood and British run
Comingled down the hill.

But now he stood in silent watch,
And sweat was on his lip;
A red coat now was in his sight,
His eye was on the ship.

The Watson boy, they called him Ben,
Walked down the Natchez Trace,
A grassy field in New Orleans,
Would be his resting place;

And still he stood his silent watch
Though all around him fell;
He felt a kinship now with them,
His eye upon this hell.

He fought again at Shiloh,
And felt his life’s blood boil;
But the enemy this time around
Was far from British soil…

Once more he watched in silence…
The Yankee force was large…
He placed the sight up to his eye
And watched the Yankees charge.

He stood beside old Teddy as
They ran up San Juan hill,
He thought he’d never have to die,
Nor thought he’d have to kill.

He marched off to France a hero,
And a hero he returned;
With all the silent watching,
You’d think he would have learned,

He was there at Iwo Jima
And he saw some bloody scenes;
As he stood his silent watch once more,
His eye on the marines.

The beach was lit up like the day
From the fireworks overhead;
Before the sun came up once more,
Ten thousand men lay dead.

He went to South Korea and
He braved the winter’s storm,
And wished for wife and children;
And wished that he’d get warm.

Most of them came home again
And all of them stood proud;
All their friends and family
Applauded long and loud.

The sailor on the river boat
Stood silent by the door,
One eye upon the water
And the other on the shore.

A man had died beside him and
He felt this deadly fear;
He wished that he was home again
And LBJ was here.

When he came home, my brother found
No mighty crowds to cheer,
He must have wondered why and felt
A different kind of fear.

He sat at his computer
And punched in a command;
He knew not where the shell would fall
But on unholy sand.

And he couldn’t help but wonder
If a person might have died;
When his silent watch was over,
He closed his eyes and cried.

I never had to go to war…
For that I thank my God
And all the men who went before
And fought on foreign sod.

The hippie and the flower child
Should get down upon their knees
And thank the Lord for giving us
Courageous men like these.

- Charles Watson

On this day of rememberance please take a moment to thank the men who have stood the Silent Watch. Pictures from top to bottom: My Great Grandfather Bascom O'Neal, World War I, My Grandfather Ray Watson, World War II, My Grandfather Charles Chamberlin, World War II, My Uncle Jerry Watson, Vietnam, My Brother-in-Law Eric Norton, Desert Storm (Still on active duty)