The Fellow In the Trenches

When the battle is won, 'tis the general who claims the laurel wreath. Seldom is lavish praise bestowed upon the lowly ranks beneath. But it's the valiant fellow in the trenches with his bayonet and gun, Who bears the brutal brunt of battle to see the victory won! In all the countless conflicts since biblical time began, 'Tis the lieutenants and sergeants who execute the battle plan. Generals concoct grandiose schemes from the comfort of a bunker, While the fellow in the trenches from bomb and shell must hunker! His home is a burrow in the ground, dug to comply with regulations. There he tries to sleep, keep socks dry and eat his meager rations. His helmet becomes a lavatory to brush his teeth and shave. It also serves as a dandy tub for taking and occasional lave! He foregoes the "comfort" of home now and then to take a stroll, Trudging thro' mud, sleet and snow on a hazardous night patrol, Gingerly plodding thro' fields of mines, adding tension to his woe. Returning to his barren hole, how he pines for a steaming cup o' joe! There's no relief from the constant din of battle or the cannons' roar. He knows all too well the horrible gore and agony of war. It takes cooks, artillerymen, "tankies" and all to see the victory won, But it's the courageous fellow in the trenches who really "gits 'er done". Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)