A slit trench,
sand bags and a cigarette,
sweating the artillery shells
coming in.

Covering our ears
over the pounding within
our small circle of guns.

It was our turn to receive
the punishment,
from the enemy artillery
outside our wire.

Their aim was good,
the fucking rounds were
hitting everywhere.

Walking incoming artillery in
like they knew the place,
throughout our position.

There were five men
running to a four man hole,
leaving the fifth man out
to receive the blast.

It took his life as he bled out
on the other four.

Tomorrow was a new day
without the fifth, the others
were left with the horror
of last night.

As we returned to the call,
we were the
Thundering Guns of Death