A small brown notebook,
Dripping with expectation and adventure,
For this Boy Seaman,16 years of age,
Barely old enough to shave,
Let alone serve his country,
In a theater of war.
But there it is,
Names of new friends, buddies and mates,
With addresses in anticipation,
Of an heroic homecoming,
Comparing notes,
Experiences and histories.
But all too soon,
Lines appear through names - ruled with precision,
As the grand adventure reality sets in,
And the boy's youth is stolen,
With the screams of Stukas and sailors alike,
Never to be returned to him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem