They step aboard the royal navy boats,
as eager as children waiting to see,
with widened gait growing all-gallopy;
they gallantly march toward others’ throats.
Inside the heads of deadened grazing cow-
kids / baconboys with toys, what is this ‘we’?
We haven’t a single Nazi poppy,
nor moment’s silence for the misnamed Gooks.
Soon enough their gait will slowly smallen,
and our infant calves will drag their hooves;
they’ll mourn their few herded cattle fallen
when the fight is over and nothing moves.
Your venged will be as well revenged again,
and left uncounted, bombed from numbered planes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is an issue I also feel strongly about... nicely communicated I reckon mate!