All is deathly quiet, not a sound to be heard,
Except a small animal, or frightened bird
The dark seems to get deeper: Are we still alone?
Feeling so vulnerable; did I hear a moan?

You tighten your grip on the Lee Enfield’s hard butt
Thinking; chin up my man, don’t be such a soft mutt
Feel for your bayonet, gentle click it on tight
Straining your eyes hard, trying to see through the night.

A soft whispering moment, a waft of cool air
Enemy are so close to your well hidden lair
Nudge your buddy awake, with hand over his mouth
Indicate they are coming from the North and South.

The night is now ablaze from the high flying flare
You quickly shield your eyes, from that blinding glare
Firing begins, off to your left flank,and your right
Many men are dying on this hot jungle night.

The last flares die, night once again encloses
Dead soldiers rest their heads, on soft beds of roses
All goes deathly quiet, not a sound to be heard
Then morning’s reveille, is the song of a bird.