All day they heard guns, <br />And now as the rain thumped down on the tin roof, <br />They thought they were, <br />The killer bullets, <br />Which had sprayed them, <br />As they ran between the trenches, <br />But as they stepped out, <br />It was not bullets, <br />That struck them down, <br />But the bursting heavens, <br />That made there own craters in the mud, <br />And left their own imprint, <br />On the sad tired soldiers.<br /><br />Nick Hilton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rain-at-war/
