Bombs fell from the blood streaked sky,
I remember waiting in my dug-out, waiting to die.
Waiting for the next bomb to fall,
Not knowing if it was going to fall at all.
All I could do was shake and shake,
Hoping that any moment from a dream I would wake.
But never did I awake from that nightmare,
I sat there terrified, more than I would like to declare.
Every night I wail like a ghost,
Yet I'm the one who has coped the most.
What I have seen, It's all world wide.
It's frightning enough to make men run and hide.
Things that can make grown men cry,
Such as the bombs falling from the blood streaked sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem