Articles

What war was really like By Jensen Martlew

Midnight strikes again,

The trenches are dark and full of gloom,

The whistle is blown again,

Up on the battle field it's all doom.

Standing up once, now lying down,

Crimson blood streams from his leg,

Off falls his leather gown,

Don't die, please, I beg.

Unconsciously his wide eyes search,

My friend is dying, Tim,

Then suddenly his eyes do lurch,

Death pounces over him.