MOMMA, bring some flowers,
for your son was killed in
this 3rd world place.
I fought well,
told the truth,
and protected these peaple,
from a monster called death.
STILL, some how death gets its
way.
DAD, it is becouse of you
that i fight this war, you
tought me to stand strait,
look me in the eye, and pay
the bills of strangers, who i
really dont know.
STILL, i fought well,
told the truth,
and protected these peaple
from a monster called death,
and still this monster wins
again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
YERY PROFOUND, WELL EXPRESSED STATEMENT...GRIPPING IN READING IT TWICE...NICE JOB, DAVID...FINE WORK! ''''''''''''''''FRANK