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 ramblings and things

I’m 1917 they still had another year to go. Just can’t get that out of my mind.

It’s cold and damp these days
Living in this blooming trench
There’s mud and slime and muck
And that awful awful stench.
The rats are living with us,
They just seem to thrive
In these conditions where,
For us, it’s hard to stay alive.

When it’s stand down time
I just set my mind to roam
Across those foreign miles
To my Yorkshire village home.
I go see the little cob
And each Shire in its stall
In my ploughing days
I’ve worked with them all.

I chat with the cows
Munching in their pens
See the cackling geese
And the nosey busy hens
And walk every road and lane
Every little street
Check all those places
Where we used to meet.

I climb into the loft
Still full of hay
Where we took our pleasure
That precious summer day.
Made our promises
Of our love for evermore
And the very next day
I went off to join their war.

I am tired and exhausted
Maybe given all I have to give
Yet I must keep on fighting
If I want to live.
Play my luck against the odds
Keep on going over the top
Praying every night for
This evil war to stop.

My chances of survival
However bad
Are better than the certainty of
Dawn facing a firing squad.
It’s almost morning now and
The rats have gone away
I think they must sleep
During light of the day,

So I close down my thoughts
And come back to the hell
Of this wet cold trench
And that awful awful smell.
Over by Christmas they said
So why I am still here,
Somehow I’ve survived
To the start of my third year.

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