When I get home
things will be the same.
I haven't changed.
The sling
comes off the day
I get on the plane.
I'll be able
to cut the grass,
rake the leaves,
shovel the snow,
all the stuff I did before.
And every morning
in summer, fall,
winter and spring,
when we wake up,
I'll draw rosettes
with the tip
of my tongue
on your nipples,
await your orders to
bivouac elsewhere.
Nothing has changed.
I'm feeling fine.
We'll cleave again.
Aww..very beautiful. I hope this particular soldier made it home to his wife to fulfill all of his loving promises.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nipples? cleave? ? hey! i thought this was a family site! ha ha! bring it onnnnnnnnnnnn! ! ! i hope 'she' wasn't cleaving with too many guys while he was away. what if he was gone 4 years and returns to find 'he' has 2 kids, aged 1 and 2? ? bri ;)