We shared a piece of chocolate in the trench,
The very last prized morsel which I had;
It tasted sweet, despite death’s bitter stench,
And for a sweeter moment—he looked glad.
He was sixteen, like others, lied to join;
Fresh faced, strong limbed and eager there to serve.
I had taken him beneath my battered wing,
To steady when the child had lost his nerve.
I stood the elder, being twenty-one,
And my experience spanned the years of three;
I was the father, he much like the son,
And I would die for him—as he for me.
I had seen others like him come and go—
But Lord—not him—please,Lord, not ever; no.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.