Death, My Friend

His broad shoulders tremble in fear Fingernails are caked with dirt and yellow Some sneer, some are in tear Some cheer, some are mellow He feels that death is near The trench is like a death row He has a tight grip on his gun Remembers the time in the meadow downhill He thought war would be fun Now he wonders if he will kill On the black soil where he will run Where minutes from now he might be still His feet are damp in his muddy socks, Runs his fingers over his bristle He sees a rat scampering across the rocks Sees and hears an exploding missile His scowling officer looks at the clock The officer hesitates and blows the whistle He hurries up the ladder and joins the war cry Clumsy feet trip on scattered litter He feels a bullet strike him. Another! His body leaks red dye As he falls, all he sees is a blur He takes his last breath and dies The blue sky above is calm, unaware of the massacre