The Sniper Post
The shell-shocked troops, exhausted from the days assault
Lie spent upon the broken trench floor
Or piled down in the dugouts with the rats
And I, the lonely sentinel, watch over all
Spying on the desolation amidst the darkness
I do not sleep
But, catching my mind dwelling on the outcome
Of the fruitless, futile day that’s gone before
I swiftly return my gaze to the mud pits
Stretching out around me on all sides
My rifle’s gaze drifts with snipers precision
Across the fields of wire and mud and blood
Towards the distant dugouts of the Boche
Another twisted, ragged line, like ours
Beyond the pockmarked
on 