Memoriam

My father didn’t die.  My mother’s dad
Had suffered ere he went, when Vietnam
Had sent him packing home with the aplomb
Deserving all the sick, and weary.  Bad
As may it be, comparing both, I know,
Though neither was a fan of Congress, I
Had heard ‘em say they’d quickly go to die
For any order given.  Toe to toe,
They’d make a bloody stand: my father, not
A firm believer in our given right
To right the world with all our righteous might,
And grandpa, sick and dying.  I have got
A little each within me, but I live
While they have given all they have to give.