by Chris Hayles | Aug 30, 2010 | Poetry
Snow up to the waist Freezing feet and soaking socks The cold is creeping everywhere The low rumbling of the guns The smell of cordite in the air The drum of Don10 is heavy The drum itself all covered in ice My gloves are soaking My fingers are numb As I stagger and...
by Chris Hayles | Aug 30, 2010 | Poetry
The mournful bell slowly tolls echoing across the fields The early morning mist begins to rise Exposing a Wiltshire town beneath grey skies People milling around as if waiting for something to happen The mournful bell still tolls Old men in blazers and berets stand...
