a searching light scrapes the war torn skies
protecting the peninsula from the messerschmidt.
bleary and tired and bloodshot are the eyes
following the search seeing only the spots lit
by the pale and palid moonlike glow
of the last line of crippled defense,
those old guard who silently still know
and still understand their vigil makes sense
while the rest of the country lies vulnerable
asleep uneasily, unprepared and naked
a scarred heart - with ribcage torn open
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A powerful piece, well done. x