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In July 1918, Erich Posselt wrote a poem.  “It wasn't a very good poem,” he would write later, “and it was decidedly not for publication.” But it landed him in an American internment camp for 17 months. It began like this.

Six little aviators
Went flying out one day;
They wished to go to Coblenz,
And never came away.

The poem's six (presumably American) aviators bumble through Germany, each falling victim to the varied ravages of gout, Munich beer, and the well-known general Erich Ludendorff.