“Over the top”, he said—and so we did,
Hot lead whizzed by our heads like angry bees,
John took one in the chest and down he slid;
I took one low and dropped down to my knees.
Through smoke and haze we saw futility—
No man a coward, but everyone afraid;
The trench, ten yards behind, I still could see,
Its yawning darkness like a welcomed grave.
I crawled behind some burnt-out shattered stump
And found some paper in a pocket dry;
I dipped a splinter in my blood and wrote,
Steeling myself, as not to shake or cry.
My darling, when you read this, I’ll be gone—
Sorry to leave so soon. Please raise our son.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.