143 04/30/99 10:14:57 AM
Kilo Charlie 5 No Sex Whatever
aka Buddy Lindner, in Houston.
Former Weapons Control Systems Mech on the F4C, at Davis Monthan AFB
4453 Combat Crew Training Wing
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From my dad :
God is Positive, Good, Loves, and Builds.
Satan is Negative, Evil, Hates, and Destroys........
K5QET, A.C. Lindner, Jr.
TAPS
Have you ever felt the chills when you hear "Taps" played? Have you ever had tears come to your eyes
when the bugle sounded that haunting tune? I have. For those who haven't, here are the words to "Taps"
Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the Lakes,
From the hills,
From the sky.
All is well,
safely rest.
God is nigh.
Fading light
Dims the sight
And a star
Gems the sky,
Gleaming bright
From afar,
Drawing nigh,
Falls the night,.
Thanks and praise,
For our days,
Neath the sun,
Neath the stars,
Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.
A Man
While fighting for his country, he lost an arm and was suddenly afraid;
"From now on, I shall only be able to do things by halves.
I shall reap half a harvest.
I shall be able to play either the tune or the accompaniment on the piano, but never both parts together.
I shall be able to bang with only one fist on doors, and worst of all
I shall only be able to half hold my love close to me.
There will be things I cannot do at all, applaud for example, at shows where everyone applauds."
From that moment on, he set himself to do everything with twice as much enthusiasm.
And where the arm had been torn away, a wing grew.
Kipling
Oh, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' Tommy, go away';
But it's 'Thank you, Mister Atkins,' when the band begins to play.
It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' Chuck him out, the brute!'
But it's 'Saviour of 'his country' when the guns begin to shoot.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ows your soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes' when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too.
But single men in barracks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barracks don't grow into plaster saints
unknown
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