Alius Dies
Bashing breaks the new-born day;
Innocence tattered, has flown away.
We stir our eyes from Sandman’s gaze
And break the peace of our laze.
Men who slept well will not wake.
Those left find vermin on their plate.
Where once farmers tended fowl-
Only the Reaper is left to prowl.
Pungent stench of rotting decay
Is the scent of our trench bouquet.
How dreadful just to sit and wait
While our gen’rals just debate.
In this wait we will lose some
As so many do succumb.
Snipers, disease and our madness
Gives midday a blurred soft sadness.
But mourning is not for us,
We must not linger, must not fuss.
We are meant to fight for home.
Our minds are not free to roam.
As the day begins to die
It is not time to kneel and cry.
Today we stand in boots of rot -
But at least we are not forgot.
Now the bashes become hushed
Our bodies left to sleep, un-crushed.
Now our minds will drift away.
As it was, another day.