Intrenched

A moments peace to write at will, trembling matches strike to the clasping lid of the kings crown tin, capstan smoke drifts low, reluctant to rise above the deathly pulpit edge, and broken only by the returning cry's of hurt, scrambling down mud banks to be among the lit full strengths, and the relieved once again.

Our firm under foot trench now mired to our knees, reflecting our hunger, and fair fight resolve, then our misery and deep sorrow at our empty promised honour by dishonourable parliament men.

Rain water potholes, sunken empty boots, and crimson flashes of passing stretcher blood, the rumbling of enemy tanks rumble above not far away, and the earth upon I sit gently quivers.

Orange dots are quickly extinguished tinned hats stand to alert, the command is given "over the top lads" no lads wanting to be first, yet they go slow not knowing if they will return.

A moments peace to write at will was just a moment, a peaceful moment to fill.