A FOREIGN LAND

We are the dead
And dying men
Tongues silent
Thoughts like stars
In a trench 
That stinks
In a country
Distant..far.

Jeffers fell
In dawns first light
Snipers bullet
Hit clean and true
Another letter home
Dear friend
Tomorrow
It could be you.

Death here
Has silent wings
Empty eyes
And so few words
The lucky
Take a wound
Back home
With many scars.

Home, with a sigh
A single word
Muttered light
Upon the breeze
The messenger arrives
Out of breath
The order given
We are but  falling leaves.