Once I was with Giants,
Three men strong.
They haunt me now,
Like ghosts in the night.
They are the soul of America,
But they wouldn’t think they were.
I’ve lost them now,
Not in mind, but in sight.
They are as I last saw,
Young, trim, and eager.
Always ready and willing,
They took it like men.
It was long ago,
The places dim.
The memory strays,
Of what had been.
One with tooth scars,
In numbers on each hand.
Quiet, happy, and strong.
No family, but a need to belong.
Another, a street tough,
With charm and a gold heart.
A ready laugh and a joke,
But don’t do him wrong.
Still another. On leave,
The Motorcycle King.
Nose breaking the wind,
The asphalt flew.
They were mine,
For a short while,
Where the waves rolled,
And the wind blew.
Shared were miseries,
And loss of sleep.
Bodies trimmed,
In tropic heat.
Few remember now,
Another life it seems.
In my youth they were Giants,
I was honored to meet.
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