Khaki clad men ran, stooped, through the trenches maze;
Avoiding shells, that aimed to end their days;
Through mud and muck, and rat infestation,
Past shrieking comrades, fallen, with no sedation.

Weapons carried, ready to fire,
When called upon, from their rancid mire.
Barbed wire festooned, in barbaric coils,
Planks of timber, held back battered soils.

Remnants of fabric torn, from battledress,
From the wire fluttered, as men sheltered in distress;
Battered and dented, their helmets stood between them and death,
A Chaplain openly prayed, with baited breath.

The booming barrages, of enemy fire,
Made the strongest and bravest of men perspire;
Orders shouted to be heard, above the overhead roar,
As the radio crackled it’s transmission, to win the war.

These brave young men, crouched, with a consoling smoke,
Passed between comrades, as they shared a joke.
A small gesture, a photo shared, appearing concerned,
For thousands like them died, and never returned.
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