Parade ground, Cerberus, one dismal, foggy morn,
Weather-beaten face, beneath a battered old hat
This man was “Navy; ” to the sea, surely born,
With swaggering gait, he left no doubt of that.
Three rows o’ ribbons up on his chest,
Telling that he’d been there, to hell and back,
Hammering Hitler, Mussolini, and Tojo’s best
Even giving “Charlie” a serve too, this old Jack.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem