Winter marshals its last troops
In an icy counterattack
Sending blasts of Arctic air
Down my spine and back.
Like Hitler in his final days
At the Battle of the Bulge
It tears through jacket and my vest
It's lethal plan divulged.
But like the battered U.S. troops
Encircled at Bastogne,
Like McAuliffe exclaiming, 'Nuts'
I'll valiantly fight on.
I know that Spring is inching near
I can see it in the heavens
And though Das Panzers clank and roar,
Here come the P-47s.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem