This one in response to our trigger ‘Stop’
MAKE IT STOP!
If I hide here will it stop:
The crunch of the shells,
The screams of the dying?
Will they forget about me
So I won’t have to go over the top?
The fields at home now are in full crop.
Shall I see them again,
Kiss Mother and Dad,
Hold little Elsie’s hand?
Or will my bones be left here to rot?
They felt such pride to see me atop
The bus, wearing smart khaki.
Thank God they can’t see this hell,
As so many men are mown down.
But where is God? Please make it stop!