The Western Front,
unable to advance,
was instead left to defend
and slowly ravage France.
But in the trenches,
our own battle were being fought.
A vicious malice that
Nature herself had wrought.
When the sound of bullets
didn't pierce the air,
it was rent with cries of pain,
as if they had pulled out all of their hair.
Once strong men,
who thought they'd be back
come Christmas,
are still under the same sky black.
Once strong men, reduced to tears,
plagued by Trench Foot and disease,
suffering as much as they did in battle,
unable to be at ease.
Once strong men
were we.
Now, here we stand, half-dead,
in the fight to be free.
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