“After a day or two of riding, our troops were terribly saddle sore, to the point of serious disability. To ease the friction, we sent in a hundred jars of Vaseline. But in Afghanistan the dirt is a fine dust and it’s everywhere; it lingers in the air and...
As I roved out one bright May morning To view the purple heather and flowers gay Who should I spy but my own true lover As she sat under yon willow tree I took off my hat and I did salute her I did salute her most courageously When she turned around And...
