Poets of the trench

As my face reflects
Behind enemy lines
Yet separated by
Barbwire and mines

Knee deep in freezing mud
Best "pals" breath I tried to regain
The worst factor is, not knowing
Of the time that remains

Contamination dashes in a bloody trench
Poetry written amongst shrapnel and friends

Sanity buckles under the weight
Of steel and spraying lead
Howitzers toll an ominous death knell
Ear-splitting elegy above those who fell

Corruption seeks a lonesome trace
Gangrenous limbs or a blown off face
Amputation in the killing field
Infection overcomes, affection concealed

Puppets of war race over the edge
Commence death dance at close quarters
Hope of truce torn and bloodstained
A thousand lives lost and only twenty yards gained

As battle tires out
And bombing starts to die
Dead soldiers all around
With fear injected into their eyes

400.000 Britain's dead
600.000 Germans put to rest
Fallen in the battle of Somme
One million youngsters dead and gone