He walks through the enemy's territory with his muscular hand on his gun.
He can't remember the last time he had fun.
With all of his senses on fast alert,
He walks through the hot desert sun.
With hot sweat being his bath,
Thinking about his girl safely at home,
In his sweet hometown,
He suddenly sees a flash a picture of his home.
He swiftly lifts the picture of her that's
Neatly tucked in his pocket,
She still wears his locket.
Waiting for her soldier to return home,
He quickly picks up the pace.
Remembering what he's fighting for.
He's fighting for the future of America.
He's fighting for all the veterans; that fought before him.
He's fighting for the little boy Tim.
He's never met.
He's fighting, so Tim grows up in a safer America.
He's fighting because he remembers what happened on September the eleventh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem