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Poets Of The Trench

As my face reflects

Behind enemy lines

Yet separated by

Barbwire and mines



Knee deep in freezing mud

Best "pals" breath I tried to regain

The worst factor is, not knowing

Of the time that remains



Contamination dashes in a bloody trench

Poetry written amongst shrapnel and friends



Sanity buckles under the weight

Of steel and spraying lead

Howitzers toll an ominous death knell

Ear-splitting elegy above those who fell



Corruption seeks a lonesome trace

Gangrenous limbs or a blown off face

Amputation in the killing field

Infection overcomes, affection concealed



Puppets of war race over the edge

Commence death dance at close quarters

Hope of truce torn and bloodstained

A thousand lives lost and only twenty yards gained



As battle tires out

And bombing starts to die

Dead soldiers all around

With fear injected into their eyes



400.000 Britain's dead

600.000 Germans put to rest

Fallen in the battle of Somme

One million youngsters dead and gone

Poets Of The Trench /

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