A Painting Poem by jan oskar hansen

A Painting

I have a painting of a young pilot leaning against
his bi-plane smoking a cigarette, you can see,
from his natural confidence, he must have been
born rich and benefited from a first class education

Strange, but yore was a more equal time, the sons
the rich also died on foreign battle field, they did
so as a matter of honour; now they pull threads of
gold and keep their brood safely at home.

It is a beautiful painting it oozes peace, a green
field near a river that has tall trees that endlessly
look at themselves in slow running water, and
I wonder: did the young man survive his war?