It was a Fokker 104, <br />the colonel had confessed. <br />His fate was very clear, <br />and we did not complain <br />about the fuel used. <br /> <br />He would not do <br />what was expected by the nation, <br />a step, out into empty space <br />was not within the realm <br />of capabilities. <br /> <br />I'd been his mentor, <br />his trusted go-between, <br />that bastard Arnie B. <br />who, from the stock of <br />Icelandic imbeciles <br />had sealed my fate. <br /> <br />It was expected now, <br />so I, the current chargé d'affaires <br />stepped in, <br />honour must be upheld, <br />no costs too dear. <br />I took it on, the task <br />and as I flew I chanted <br />long and loudly, <br />I do believe that all of them, <br />the birds, the bees, and men <br />heard Aryan melodies <br />until I met my God, <br />at a small place <br />near willow trees, <br />it's called <br />the Fatherland.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/honour-3/
