Sergeant Bill Hooser
The sun beat down on dusty ground,
A desert wind sang mournful sound.
Sergeant Bill Hooser, weathered face,
A stoic figure in that place.
He’d seen the world, its joy and pain,
The firefights, the endless rain.
He’d tasted victory, bitter sweet,
And felt the weight of loss, defeat.
His eyes, they held a knowing gaze,
Of battles fought in bygone days.
But still he stood, a guiding hand,
For men who followed, taking stand.
He’d tell them tales of valor bold,
Of heroes lost, and stories told.
He’d teach them strength, and discipline,
To face the fear, and fight within.
He was a legend, whispered low,
A name that sent a shiver through.
For Bill Hooser, he was more than just,
A soldier, he was a man of trust.
And when the dust settled, and the war was done,
He’d sit and watch the setting sun.
And in his heart, he’d find the peace,
That only comes when battles cease.
So raise a glass to Sergeant Bill,
A soldier true, with heart and will.
He fought for freedom, fought for right,
A shining beacon in the darkest night.
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