I know that war is a shattering terrible thing,
I hear the nearby thudding of the blades
of Puma-helicopters coming and leaving,
see from the lookout-tower the open glades,
that is crisscrossed with dark shades,
later in the barrack my troops are sleeping,
I am awakened by one of the colonel's aides,
see innocents while into the sky the moon is creeping.
It's 03h00 and there has been a terrorist attack on a farm,
it's time for wake-up and going into action on hot-pursuit,
a farmer and his wife and daughters has come to terrible harm,
in minutes with a Busman tracker we are ready, great and good,
do run bended to the Puma helicopter, which blows up dust
and like a well-oiled machine we do each other's abilities trust.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem