These Angels of Quin Nhon and the rest of Nam
They came, like we did, following the call of the Flag
Hearing of the need for duty, for the care of others
They came, knowing the danger, of the fear

They were slightly older than we were
Having taken the time to learn to care for us
Time to learn how to heal our bodies, ripped and torn
But did not know of the scars they themselves would receive

The mental anguish would sear their minds, souls
That would leave scars that remain unseen, unhealed
Time cannot take away their agony that came
The agony of watching a brother of the blood die

These sisters of the blood would receive worse than we
They would not have the release of striking back
Their fear had to be pent up inside and hidden
They had to be strong, for the ones they took care of

Sometimes one being healed lost his sanity for a moment
Who did he hurt when he did this, where did he strike
At the ones who were close, the Angels in green
They received wounds from the ones they were helping

Being the Angels God intended them to be, they drove on
Taking the pain, danger in stride, doing their job
Caring for those who were brought to them in much need
Holding them and listening to that last breath say

“Momma, Momma, I’m cold Momma”
Knowing we shall never see “Momma” again
Our last sight was the Angel of Quin Nhon