In a Shell Hole, 1916

The system is racked with strain
Sleep scarcely brought relief.
Too much grief. Too much grief.
All yesterday spent
Advancing on the Hun.
Thought we had them on the run.
A crazed momentum of
Dreamed bleeding conquest.
We gave our best.
And now many of the finest
Have sweet rest.


Their big guns entered
Into the fray.
Mangled men, or parts of them
Flew into the air.
Despair, yes sad despair.
The Advance nearly lost
At such great cost.
Englishmen, Scots, Canucks
Revealed in morning’s glow.
Still prone, as if in prayer
You know.


But not with us, gone
As sunrise shone.
One lark sang as if
Normalcy, she’d bring.
But nothing healed her meadow
Grass all burned.
Ugly pock marks, earth churned.
And three of us crouching in this hole.


Randy dead, his face dread mangled.
One arm hanging, near severed.
Bill with his dirty face
Lost boot. (Will take Randy’s.)
And eyes of dark terror.
In a hell imagined, never!


Myself from Woodstock
Oxford County, of produce, cheese
And dairy bounty.
Now numbed, yes numb.
Too much seen of death
Hard met, hard come.


The lark draws closer
God sent, healing meant.
yes, Providence chose Her.