Rain floods the trenches on a cold darkened night,
And the battle drags on. How long must they fight?
Rats grow fat as they feast on the dead.
The constant shell impacts get to the head.
You keep your bayonet close, and your eye on no-man’s-land,
Just hairline cracks,
Fine lines on a
Creeping across a
A sound, but
Marking - scarring
- All the same.
See here, where