I study the relentless sweep
of tanks through the Ardennes
the sickle-cut, the counter-thrusts,
retreats, delays and then
I try to see a single man
swept up in others' schemes
sense of adventure quickly lost
tortured lifelong by dreams.
Not just the corpses bobbing in the surf
testify those who died -
survivors also, lives unmade,
shift restless in that bloody Dunkirk tide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. Such a nice poem, Hugh M. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks