Death in the trenches
His Cold wet hand still clutching his gun
Feeling alone; he is but one
His helmet is still upon his head
Left for lost and yet not quite dead
They had the enemy on the run
Then some man shoots him down with a gun
The trench around him may be his grave
Dyeing for those he hopes to save
The world around him starts to blur
His heart goes out to them and her
He gasps in air for one last breath
Them slips quietly into death
By Daniel Morrow
No comments:
Post a Comment