WWII Response:

A Bird

The first day:
My boots were loose,
For I'd just learned how to tie them.
My socks slid down,
I fumbled to pull them up.
My legs were eager,
For the victory march ahead.
My gun was cold and shining,
In its potential, awaiting pride.
I saw an eagle overhead.

A Friday:
My boots were getting painful,
For we've marched all night before.
My socks were getting heavy,
With mud, small rocks, and water.
My legs were getting stiff,
My muscles stabbed each step.
My gun was warm and eager,
Its heaviness was more than known
I watched a falcon dive and kill a robin.

Unknown Day:
My boots were getting tired,
Of stepping over friends.
My socks were wet and cold,
But they shrunk and no longer fell.
My legs shook and cried,
From running through the trenches.
My gun was slow and dirty,
But wise and warn with all its sights
I searched, but saw no birds.

The last day:
My boots were new
Because Jimmy had the same shoe size.
My socks were off,
We kept them close in case of gas.
My legs were grateful
For I've seen men, alive, with none.
My gun was a new, unknown heavy
In its weight, screaming, "I've had enough."

I could lace my boots, march all night, and fire my gun,
But I fumbled for my socks.
And at my knees, coughing with me,
A bird.

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