He was a P.O.W. of World War 11.
He was a fighter pilot that crash landed.
Landing on the enemy's territory, too be taken prisoner.
Forced to live in the enemy's crowded barracks; a prisoner's stay.
Forced to eat potato rations; a prisoner's wage.
Forced to lose ninety pounds; a prisoner's labor.
He quietly sits back waiting for sweet freedom's day.
Imprisoned by fate, that soon became; one of America's Heroes.
Now, he lives with his wife, with uncovered windows.
So, he'll never be taken prisoner.
Imprisoned in life's insecurities,
A victim of war crimes, of Germany,
Feeling the love of America's charities,
He's been able to live a nice lifestyle.
In the American Dream,
Where the hero's light beams.
Now he's laid to rest in peace, at Arlington Cemetery, with other American Heroes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fighter has a nice life style. I like it.