A letter home

This night comes with sombre rain

The skies know what is to come.

In the morn at day break

The tired souls of my comrades,

Following my whistle and order,

Will go over the wall.

And advance the plains to the enemy

Who will do just the same.

These men I lead are hardly that

They've known no love

Other than that of their mother.

Known no shame of a heavy drink,

Some have not even had their first.

And many, if not all,

Had never stepped foot outside of their home town

Before this ungodly war.

But we are told

We will be home for Christmas.

Yet these children

And myself I'm sure

Have seen our last already.

I hope only their resolve

Is strong enough

That they do not yet realise it themselves.

We strike the enemy at first light

Children themselves.

Many wishing

Just as I

That we could walk the other way.