|Visit Us On FB
78 THE TRENCH
Around the bay and traverse little twilight
colours linger And incense-laden breezes come in crooning
from afar, To where above the sandbags gleam the steely
fangs of war.
All the night the frogs go chuckle, all the day
the birds are singing In the pond beside the meadow, by the
roadway poplar-lined, In the field between the trenches are a million
blossoms springing 'Twixt the grass of silver bayonets where the
lines of battle wind Where man has manned the trenches for the
maiming of his kind.