Little Texas

Little Texas by David Baillie

A hoe and a plow, behind the south end of a Texas mule,
share-croppers son, one of nine bare foot children left behind,
all day long in the hot sun helping feed the younger ones,
just a lad of twelve not more , sitting hours on milk'n stool.

Socked with the depression, and not just the dollar bill, this son,
saw his bothers and sisters off each day to Church and school,
knew the golden rule, hard taught and honor bound , this son,
mother of them all passed to greater rewards, their only jewel.

Sharpshooter before he was a teen, darn few rabbits, missed,
feed a family of many on scraps, the times they were lean,
no other path to follow now t's his choice and God's blest,
strong winds of war blowing from the west, he's getting mean.

Too young for Marines, and Navy too, so off to the Army he went,
a share-croppers son of just sixteen, to take on a struggle this hard,
he was no better or worse than anyone, just did duty where he was sent,
sick at sea and never looked the part of soldier in a fight with his heart.

Distant shores became common rather than new, saw more than a few,
from Morocco to Sicily and Italy, Anzio Beach, to southern France,
no longer a lad of sixteen, older now because of what he's been through,
made a leader of men, most older than he, was the one who took chance.

Baby Face, Murph, Murphy he was called and Little Texas too,
when things got rough and hot, they called for him; Hey Sarge, !
some say he had a death wish, could be true, lucky for me an you,
over hills and mountain tops, rivers and oceans, trees an hedges.

Fear may have been within him, none near him could ever tell,
sights his eyes saw too much for most, he gave all hell to his host,
200 and more slain by his hand alone, and never a word of boast,
rain and snow, heat and cold all ground pounders know this is hell.

Blood spilled again, again and again, return he must too at the end,
now a golden bar upon his collar, more to entrust honor's birth to,
near 300 dough-boys a company to start now less than a dozen, to end,
paths of fear, death traveled and return, from hell and back too.

Years of strife and gore from shore to far off shore the like never seen,
hell a vacation place it would seem, death a grateful rest at last,
more un-seemly than beauty to be viewed no pastoral scene,
memories of deeds done, honors won, always, always in the past.

Now at last the test has been past and honors kept bright an right,
a silver bar now on his collar and ribbons on his chest, he's the best,
others not far behind in all his rewards his name is on top of the list,
blue ribbon with white stars hung around his neck , he's met the test.

Share-croppers son still not twenty one, Little Texas has won,
home again to start anew pride of all, now bravest son of Texas,
soon golden leaf to rest on his collar, and a new star to be won,
fast as lighting to draw a gun, and ride trails this son of Texas.

Lost to the clouds and mist of the mountains, shouldn't have flown,
a spirit of youth and pride he gave to all will last deep inside,
a youthful grin and face to match carry's the red badge we've known,
wait for me Audie "Lee" would like to travel a path or two by your side.

Source: www.audiemurphy.com/