Both sides of the orange make a half,
the round of the half makes the whole,
the whole of the half is all that is needed,
and the good ol’ boys come marching home.
The sense of the sentence is barely there,
the sense of it all is dust in the wind,
the tears of the wounded are barely worthwhile,
and the good ol’ boys come marching home.
The loss of the life is the sadness at night,
the loss of the innocence too,
the houses echo with the empty sounds,
and the good ol’ boys come marching home.
The logic hobbles as is shot in the foot,
the reason has known no regard,
the little boy laughs at the end of it all
and the good ol’ boys are left to roam.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very interesting poem, timely to my way of thinking. I enjoyed reading it. Found it a bit thought provoking.