World War II novels
With tattered covers
Worn out bindings
And faded pages
Rest in rows each night,
But by day
You can find them
Out in the halls,
Sitting on benches,
Walking on pathways.
I saw them last week
At the Old Soldiers Home.
Their thin necks
Like bookmarks tucked
Into real life war stories.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem