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photo courtesy Jane Slavin











Hang Tuff

By Mark W. Vance  


  A scarlet red Montana sun

Has cast its final ray,

Where in his last felt agony

A dying warrior lay.


A Darby Ranger, tried and true,

Whose will had ne’er been bent

By wasting pain, till time and toil

It’s steely strength had spent. 


Such honors grace this weary face,

That hears, as life ebbs out,

“Well done my son, your task is o’er,

No longer need you doubt.


For what is Death?  You’ve dared him oft

Before the gates of Hell,

At Chiunzi Pass in Italy

North Africa as well.”


You stood against the Blackened Night,

When Right was raging hot, 

And spurned it’s all consuming grasp;

Defied, and feared it not.


But now the flame … it flickers faint,

While Brothers vigil hold,

A bard doth sing, to guard your name

As sentinels of old.

Where shooting stars like glories fall, 

Along the emblazoned hall.


Poem courtesy: Ranger Mark W. Vance September 30, 2003

(C 2/75 '75-'77, Class 7-76)

Dedicated to: Ranger Earl Morris