| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
THE TRENCH
The long trench, twisting, turning, wanders
wayward as a river Through the poppy-flowers blooming in the
grasses dewy wet, The buttercups sit shyly and the daisies nod
and quiver, Where the bright defiant bayonets rim the
sandbagged parapet, In the peaceful dawn the trenches hold a
menace and a threat.
The last faint evening streamer touches heaven
with its finger,
The vast night's starry legion sends its first
lone herald star,
77 |
||