A still night; crescent moon; the faintest breeze. <br />Some wit might say, 'Peaceful, innit, Tommy? ' <br />Two hours before the usual time for attack. <br />I wonder what they've got up their sleeve for today. <br />A bit too quiet right now, I'd say <br /> <br />Careful how you breathe or talk <br />this chilly night, out there in the open trench; <br />frozen breath will draw the sniper's rifle sight <br /> <br />The sharp nose of some human terrier <br />passing over the familiar smells - <br />cordite, rifle oil, linseed for the wooden butt, the stench of death, <br />yesterday's corpses half submerged - <br />may detect, just over there, the unmistakeable smell <br />of fierce French 'Caporal' cigarettes; <br />there in front, strong German 'Zeppelins'; <br />round here, cheap Woodbines linger in the air <br /> <br />hardly a human difference <br />worth fighting over. <br /> <br /> <br />[revisited]<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/4-am-11-november-1918/
