Under the sun, the Spitfires fly,
Like they don’t mind, if they may die.
Bullets whistling, as they’re shot,
They’re really powerful for what seems a dot
Blood stained grass,
You’ll see it as you pass.
Babies screaming, in their beds,
Men getting shot in the head.
One Response to “World War II”
Have Your Say! Leave a comment
BTW Millie. You can’t make a comment and then answer your own comment. Even though I love the fact that you have such great ideas. I do like your poem about yourself (as well as this poem) though. Maybe write a reply to this poems and send it in as a regular poem.