All around him shells were dropping, when would this hell cease?
What a stench of death, there had to be some purpose,
though what he couldn't contemplate too long.
Men were dropping like flies around him,
it was hard enough carrying his bag, holding the essentials for the battle later,
yet this was it now.
A silent cry in the distance for attention,
no possible chance, this was every man for himself.
If he stopped for a moment, his life would be lost getting help for his comrade.
No, no, again no.
He heard a band of twenty year olds being killed,
by Turkish bayonets in trenches close to the front.
Oh why was he here? Because this was for King and Country, a duty to perform.
Those boys had been sacrificed, he was still fighting.
This war had to be won.
He looked down, water lillies.
He could have been at home, smelling fruit and flowers with mum and dad,
in England with all its goodness, but he was not.
Maybe this muddy, bloody hell couldn't get any wrose.
God no! Rain!
He thought he must have feet for clay,
and was reminded by the old saying, if you stop now... they bury you.
Those were Tommy's last thoughts, before he was hit by a chance shell.
His war had ended. Peace had begun.
© John Leach
