The 54th Month
The first few weeks were exciting and
adrenalin rushed
The sound of guns firing bombs falling the settling of the dust
The 54th month since the war started
My trench unit five in all
Three in the medical room they call death hall
One man lost to no mans land
Killed by a German, bayonet in hand
The sweet strong smell of blood covers the trenches
Bombs falling, eliminating the French defences
I write to the families of the lost
To tell them the wars cost
I think of them when they read this, tears streaming down their face
But I must carry on keep the pace
Heart breaking news from the medical room
Another of my men has met his doom
He was not meant to fight he was seventeen years old
He caught an infection then finished by the bitter bitter cold
I look around this barren land
No grass no life just blood stained sand
I put my head in my hands and begin to cry
The planes roar now they're Kings of the skies
The men we killed, we used to Boast
I killed fifteen, all on the coast
With war, so many regrets
That's one of mine I'll never forget.
By Jonathon Cooke
Aged 14 years
December 2005