Modern Poetry
Michael Caine Fort
麦坚利堡
Luo Men
More than great
Human beings have felt the great loss
Who sat in the cry of war
It's laughter has subsided to seventy thousand souls deeper than the zone of sleep
Sun, moon and stars have been cold by the cold Pacific Ocean waves are also cold fire to boil
Smith, Williams shot the fireworks festival honored to receive you stretch do not go home
Your name back home colder than the winter water
In the tumult of death in your hand of God does not save
Blood has washed out to commemorate the great
Cried the great war, why it does not laugh
Seventy thousand crosswise lined park surrounded by forest around the village into a lily
Not move in the wind is not moving in the rain
Silent to the Manila Bay to see the pale look to the visitors of the camera
Disorder in the death of Smith, Williams, I just want to know the mirror
Where is your child a place to play childhood eyes often
In spring place in possession of tapes and color slides
McKenzie called Fort Lee leaves the birds are not afraid of moving too
Who will make the sound of silence here, hit by bleeding
Insulation time to escape in space and time clocks
Gray lines here than the world of eternal silence also less talk
No sound beautiful living room of the deceased's scenic garden
God had been to car and admire the city also came over
Williams and Smith, you are not, it does not go
Remove the pendulum at rest, such as the surface of the heart can not see the face of years of
Night in the sunlight off the evening star
Blind your eyes to sleep regardless of the season
Refuses to wake up a world of transparent
Fort Baker & McKenzie asleep exceptionally green pastures of depression
Death in the San goods packed on the vocalization of the marble
Look to the Stars and Stripes rise to the immortal full look to the clouds and
Fort Baker & McKenzie is the land-based spray has been molded into the Pacific Forest of Stone Tablets
A sad day to the great relief sobbing into the death of the most hung black background
Seventy thousand stories burned in the thrill of white anxiety
Smith, Williams, red-hot wild mango woods when the _set_ting sun Hunmu
God will also fall for a hurry to leave Star
You are not going out there
Pacific, the submarine is not dark door
|