He
placed a plate upon the table
Just in front of where I sat
Boiled potatoes, pork and onions
With a great big chunk of roasted fat. |
The steam rose up, I could but simper
Streams of gravy, brown and hot
Lay there piping with the onions
Still I sat a drunken sot. |
Heaps of bread strewn on a napkin
Inch thick slices, white and fresh
Mounds of butter, lay there gloating
Underneath the oval mesh. |
Then the vision slipped and wavered
Up and past, the screen slid by
Now my eyes could see those turnips
All that passed was just a lie. |
Stalag 357.
Fallingbostel. Hanover. Germany.
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