| Letters from Home |
| John Montgomery Michael |
| My Dear Son, it is almost June, |
| I hope this letter catches up to you, and finds you well. |
| Its been dry but they're calling for rain, |
| And everything's the same ol' same in Johnsonville. |
| Your stubborn 'ol Daddy ain't said too much, |
| But I'm sure you know he sends his love, |
| And she goes on, |
| In a letter from home. |
| I hold it up and show my buddies, |
| Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, and they all laugh, |
| Like there's something funny bout' the way I talk, |
| When I say: "Mama sends her best y'all." |
| I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, |
| Pick up my gun an' get back to work. |
| An' it keeps me driving me on, |
| Waiting on letters from home. |
| My Dearest Love, its almost dawn. |
| I've been lying here all night long wondering where you might be. |
| I saw your Mama and I showed her the ring. |
| Man on the television said something so I couldn't sleep. |
| But I'll be all right, I'm just missing you. |
| An' this is me kissing you: |
| XX's and OO's, |
| In a letter from home. |
| I hold it up and show my buddies, |
| Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, and they all laugh, |
| 'Cause she calls me "Honey", but they take it hard, |
| 'Cause I don't read the good parts. |
| I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, |
| Pick up my gun an' get back to work. |
| An' it keeps me driving me on, |
| Waiting on letters from home. |
| Dear Son, I know I ain't written, |
| But sittin' here tonight, alone in the kitchen, it occurs to me, |
| I might not have said, so I'll say it now: |
| Son, you make me proud. |
| I hold it up and show my buddies, |
| Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, but no one laughs, |
| 'Cause there ain't nothing funny when a soldier cries. |
| An' I just wipe me eyes. |
| I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, |
| Pick up my gun an' get back to work. |
| An' it keeps me driving me on, |
| Waiting on letters from home |