The truth is he laid beside me on the firing line my brother No race or colour came into it He shaved one day and cut his chin and the blood flowed deepest red And so I said "my brother let me bleed instead I care not from where you come the colour of your skin You are the brother whom I love on the fighting line The deadly day the bullet hit I shed the tears for you It was me who cleaned the blood and **** from the body that once was you You see, you were black, I was white but our blood ran the deepest red And for me you took the round and so my dear brother died
And this might be poetry but based on the reality from my teenage years
I'm sick of people writing **** they don't know anything about but, that is "freedom" of speech Poems about a soldier being promoted,wounded and losing his family That's called "Sacrifice" And is the reason you have the "freedom" to write that **** and add it to a collection of "humorous" poems.