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Battleship in Forty-three

My name,
Is Jeff McDougall,
I'm twenty-three,
Serving on a battleship,
In nineteen forty-three.

Although I'm not,
An Officer,
I am a seaman through and through,
Fighting the enemy,
In World war two.

As I lay,
On my bunk,
I wonder about my family,
In the fields and streets,
Back home.

Are they playing,
Baseball games,
While I hear the cannons roar,
Or gone fishing,
As I hear the battle roar.

Laying there,
I pondered,
Trying to rest,
As a low harmonica,
Playing in a bunk nearby.

A man,
About eighteen,
Who comes around Sarnia's way,
Playing a Canadian folk tune,
In the bunk nearby.

Now the,
Guns are silent,
For I stand,
This memorial site,
Who were lost at sea.

Memorial bells,
They did ring,
For each seaman,
As I remember the man,
From down Sarnia way.

My name,
Is Jeff McDougall,
Now at ninety-three,
I remember my mates,
On that battleship in forty-three.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
Please use care (this is a sensitive subject for me, do not critique harshly)
Review Request (Direction): 
[This option has been removed]
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


I thought this was a rhyming poem, but then I saw that it was not. I think that this could very easily been made into a rhyming poem with a little more thought. I do appreciate the theme and the thoughts behind it. We owe many thanks to those in military-service for their sacrifices and leaving their lives and families and traveling thousands of miles to fight for freedom and Democracy in distant places around the world. A good job of showing this. ~ Geezer.

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