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I came to Shemya via Wake Island in 1967, And soon realized this wasn't heaven. The island was so small I was shocked, And learned later it was called "The Rock". Why did I start putting my thoughts in rhyme? Could it be that Shemya works on ones mind ? On that wind swept island of black sand, You get to know your fellow man. We were a band of brothers who work as a team, To keep the Rivet Ball maintenance clean. I had great admiration for the Ravens and Flight crews that year, Because those missions close to Russia must have caused some fear. I left Shemya in 1968 and have no regrets, It's been 38 years but it's a Tour I will never forget. By Jack H. Satterlee (aka Sweetie) More Poems by Sweetie: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 |
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