Tracey Darlene Brogdon was a member of the 325th Maintenance Company, Florida Army Nationa Guard, Lake Wales, Florida when she was called to active duty, Operation Desert Storm.
SGT Brogdon served throughout the war and her unit was scheduled to come home shortly after her untimely death. She died in a vehicular accident just after the conclusion of hostilities.
Tracey was a faithful daughter to her parents, and devoted mother to Kenneth Brogdon; her survivors. She attended Bartow Senior High School in Bartow, Florida and is interred in Wildwood Cemetery, Bartow, Florida.
The submitter wrote a poem on her behalf (entitled "Oh Yes, I Was The Guard") had it inscribed on a plaque, and presented it to her reserve unit after the war.
SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon was the only Florida guardsman killed during Operation Desert Storm.
She is remembered with fondness by friends and family.
**********
OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD
A Poem dedicated to the memory
of SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon
SSG William McDonald, U.S. Army, Retired
He trod the snow with Washington,
his feet were numb with pain
He fired the shot heard round the world,
the prize he sought, he gained
My brother wore the Union blue,
as he climbed Henry Hill
My comrade word the Rebel gray,
as his heart lay cold and still
The Guardsman packed his duffel bag
at Uncle Sam's request
Through years to come the Fueher's men
would give him little rest
In the skies of Vietnam,
his wings were swept with fog
A missile arced, a pilot died,
and touched the face of God
Someone tapped her shoulder
and said, "It is your turn,"
In his hand a worn baton,
"The race is not quite won."
And though she would lose family,
and though she would lose friends
And though she would lose life itself,
her hand she did extend
Her teammate was still struggling
to match her faster gait
And as he passed baton to her,
he fell to seal his fate
And as she clutched that hallowed prize,
the wood was red and scarred
He whispers as he ends his watch,
"Oh yes, I was the Guard"
It was her turn to run the race,
beneath a foreign sun
Her ship had weathered every rack,
the prize she sought, she won
It was her turn to set the pace
across the burning sand
What Guard will dare to take her place,
which one extends his hand?
*************
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE
"Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave, A lonely, mossy mound; And yet to hearts like mine and thine It should be holy ground. Speak softly, let no careless laugh, No idle, thoughtless jest, Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps The hero in her rest. For her no reveille will beat When morning beams shall come; For her, at night, no tattoo rolls Its thunders from the drum. Tread lightly! for a girl bequeathed, Ere laid beneath this sod, Her ashes to her native land, Her gallant soul to God."(References changed to the feminine gender for this particular tribute)
Written by Eliza Jane Nicholson(1843-1896)
************
Do not stand at my grave and weep...
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry...
I am not there... I did not die.
SGT Brogdon served throughout the war and her unit was scheduled to come home shortly after her untimely death. She died in a vehicular accident just after the conclusion of hostilities.
Tracey was a faithful daughter to her parents, and devoted mother to Kenneth Brogdon; her survivors. She attended Bartow Senior High School in Bartow, Florida and is interred in Wildwood Cemetery, Bartow, Florida.
The submitter wrote a poem on her behalf (entitled "Oh Yes, I Was The Guard") had it inscribed on a plaque, and presented it to her reserve unit after the war.
SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon was the only Florida guardsman killed during Operation Desert Storm.
She is remembered with fondness by friends and family.
**********
OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD
A Poem dedicated to the memory
of SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon
SSG William McDonald, U.S. Army, Retired
He trod the snow with Washington,
his feet were numb with pain
He fired the shot heard round the world,
the prize he sought, he gained
My brother wore the Union blue,
as he climbed Henry Hill
My comrade word the Rebel gray,
as his heart lay cold and still
The Guardsman packed his duffel bag
at Uncle Sam's request
Through years to come the Fueher's men
would give him little rest
In the skies of Vietnam,
his wings were swept with fog
A missile arced, a pilot died,
and touched the face of God
Someone tapped her shoulder
and said, "It is your turn,"
In his hand a worn baton,
"The race is not quite won."
And though she would lose family,
and though she would lose friends
And though she would lose life itself,
her hand she did extend
Her teammate was still struggling
to match her faster gait
And as he passed baton to her,
he fell to seal his fate
And as she clutched that hallowed prize,
the wood was red and scarred
He whispers as he ends his watch,
"Oh yes, I was the Guard"
It was her turn to run the race,
beneath a foreign sun
Her ship had weathered every rack,
the prize she sought, she won
It was her turn to set the pace
across the burning sand
What Guard will dare to take her place,
which one extends his hand?
*************
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE
"Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave, A lonely, mossy mound; And yet to hearts like mine and thine It should be holy ground. Speak softly, let no careless laugh, No idle, thoughtless jest, Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps The hero in her rest. For her no reveille will beat When morning beams shall come; For her, at night, no tattoo rolls Its thunders from the drum. Tread lightly! for a girl bequeathed, Ere laid beneath this sod, Her ashes to her native land, Her gallant soul to God."(References changed to the feminine gender for this particular tribute)
Written by Eliza Jane Nicholson(1843-1896)
************
Do not stand at my grave and weep...
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry...
I am not there... I did not die.
Tracey Darlene Brogdon was a member of the 325th Maintenance Company, Florida Army Nationa Guard, Lake Wales, Florida when she was called to active duty, Operation Desert Storm.
SGT Brogdon served throughout the war and her unit was scheduled to come home shortly after her untimely death. She died in a vehicular accident just after the conclusion of hostilities.
Tracey was a faithful daughter to her parents, and devoted mother to Kenneth Brogdon; her survivors. She attended Bartow Senior High School in Bartow, Florida and is interred in Wildwood Cemetery, Bartow, Florida.
The submitter wrote a poem on her behalf (entitled "Oh Yes, I Was The Guard") had it inscribed on a plaque, and presented it to her reserve unit after the war.
SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon was the only Florida guardsman killed during Operation Desert Storm.
She is remembered with fondness by friends and family.
**********
OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD
A Poem dedicated to the memory
of SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon
SSG William McDonald, U.S. Army, Retired
He trod the snow with Washington,
his feet were numb with pain
He fired the shot heard round the world,
the prize he sought, he gained
My brother wore the Union blue,
as he climbed Henry Hill
My comrade word the Rebel gray,
as his heart lay cold and still
The Guardsman packed his duffel bag
at Uncle Sam's request
Through years to come the Fueher's men
would give him little rest
In the skies of Vietnam,
his wings were swept with fog
A missile arced, a pilot died,
and touched the face of God
Someone tapped her shoulder
and said, "It is your turn,"
In his hand a worn baton,
"The race is not quite won."
And though she would lose family,
and though she would lose friends
And though she would lose life itself,
her hand she did extend
Her teammate was still struggling
to match her faster gait
And as he passed baton to her,
he fell to seal his fate
And as she clutched that hallowed prize,
the wood was red and scarred
He whispers as he ends his watch,
"Oh yes, I was the Guard"
It was her turn to run the race,
beneath a foreign sun
Her ship had weathered every rack,
the prize she sought, she won
It was her turn to set the pace
across the burning sand
What Guard will dare to take her place,
which one extends his hand?
*************
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE
"Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave, A lonely, mossy mound; And yet to hearts like mine and thine It should be holy ground. Speak softly, let no careless laugh, No idle, thoughtless jest, Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps The hero in her rest. For her no reveille will beat When morning beams shall come; For her, at night, no tattoo rolls Its thunders from the drum. Tread lightly! for a girl bequeathed, Ere laid beneath this sod, Her ashes to her native land, Her gallant soul to God."(References changed to the feminine gender for this particular tribute)
Written by Eliza Jane Nicholson(1843-1896)
************
Do not stand at my grave and weep...
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry...
I am not there... I did not die.
SGT Brogdon served throughout the war and her unit was scheduled to come home shortly after her untimely death. She died in a vehicular accident just after the conclusion of hostilities.
Tracey was a faithful daughter to her parents, and devoted mother to Kenneth Brogdon; her survivors. She attended Bartow Senior High School in Bartow, Florida and is interred in Wildwood Cemetery, Bartow, Florida.
The submitter wrote a poem on her behalf (entitled "Oh Yes, I Was The Guard") had it inscribed on a plaque, and presented it to her reserve unit after the war.
SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon was the only Florida guardsman killed during Operation Desert Storm.
She is remembered with fondness by friends and family.
**********
OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD
A Poem dedicated to the memory
of SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon
SSG William McDonald, U.S. Army, Retired
He trod the snow with Washington,
his feet were numb with pain
He fired the shot heard round the world,
the prize he sought, he gained
My brother wore the Union blue,
as he climbed Henry Hill
My comrade word the Rebel gray,
as his heart lay cold and still
The Guardsman packed his duffel bag
at Uncle Sam's request
Through years to come the Fueher's men
would give him little rest
In the skies of Vietnam,
his wings were swept with fog
A missile arced, a pilot died,
and touched the face of God
Someone tapped her shoulder
and said, "It is your turn,"
In his hand a worn baton,
"The race is not quite won."
And though she would lose family,
and though she would lose friends
And though she would lose life itself,
her hand she did extend
Her teammate was still struggling
to match her faster gait
And as he passed baton to her,
he fell to seal his fate
And as she clutched that hallowed prize,
the wood was red and scarred
He whispers as he ends his watch,
"Oh yes, I was the Guard"
It was her turn to run the race,
beneath a foreign sun
Her ship had weathered every rack,
the prize she sought, she won
It was her turn to set the pace
across the burning sand
What Guard will dare to take her place,
which one extends his hand?
*************
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE
"Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave, A lonely, mossy mound; And yet to hearts like mine and thine It should be holy ground. Speak softly, let no careless laugh, No idle, thoughtless jest, Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps The hero in her rest. For her no reveille will beat When morning beams shall come; For her, at night, no tattoo rolls Its thunders from the drum. Tread lightly! for a girl bequeathed, Ere laid beneath this sod, Her ashes to her native land, Her gallant soul to God."(References changed to the feminine gender for this particular tribute)
Written by Eliza Jane Nicholson(1843-1896)
************
Do not stand at my grave and weep...
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry...
I am not there... I did not die.
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