Time to move up now, it's nearly our turn.
Four years on and no lessons learned.
Companies move to a 12-mile trench
For unknown time in rat-ridden stench.

Artillery roaring, the air filled with sound,
Their shells are whistling, enemy bound.
When in an instant the air is still
A fag box works as a last will.

Minds cast back to their happier lives,
Brought on by letters and photos of wives.
Celluloid images of memories past
Kept so close to now thumping hearts.

Wait for the whistle Lads, and stand at the ladder,
Start thinking "Kill!" and make yourselves madder.
Over the top, so much noise so much light,
Then silence... and everything bright.

I look down now and I see peace and calm,
Where once there was war that caused so much harm.
The Poppies are swaying under the sun,
Beauty now blooming where blood had once run.

08/01/2005

Posted on 08/01/2005
Copyright © 2023 Dave Fitzgerald