Its 5am, its cold and muddy
by willow moon pearce
I have not had dry feet in two weeks
Dreams of feather comfortors
And endless sleep
Are shattered from the thunder of guns
And the shouting of the sergeants
My pal known to me from god knows when
Wants to give me his watch and letters
' Just in case '.
I wonder if he should have my effects?
I am standing right next to him.
I press my forehead to the muddy ditch
And wonder what patriotic speech
And pipes and drums got me here.
I must be a puppet, a sheep or just stupid.
The whistle screams and the roar of the men
Propels me over the ditch
I don't hear gunfire in this hellish noise
But a third of my platoon
Pitch forward on their knees
I cannot see my friend
Nor do I see the machine gun round
That enters my chest, and smashes my spine
I feel no pain
But I fall crying for what I am going to lose
For my sister, who at this moment
Does not anticipate my end
In the filth and stink of the Somme.