I knelt upon the desolate land
Where brothers beside me took a stand
And braved the hidden sniper fear
That drove good souls to the muddy bier
The bombs fell right and up ahead
Left John and Kip and Dogface dead
I saw them fall and heard them shout
Marco, get down, watch out, watch out
My guts were in a grip so tight
I prayed the day would turn to night
And Sarah and Tommy, my little tops
Would one day get to see their pops
Sarge is screaming move you lunks, move you twits
It cuts the fog from this dense old mitt
I grab my gun and take aim at last
And kill the kraut who’s closing fast
I point and shoot and another goes down
While Stevie takes a glancing round
But damn he’s tough and shakes it off
And we move as fast as the whooping cough
We’re moving right and running left
And falling behind each tiny cleft
I hear the boom of the navy guns
And the bombers singing their many runs
It seems like weeks or maybe years
I ache from my toes to the tip of my ears
I can barely mutter a word or a yell
My throat is dense with that sulfur smell
I swing my pack for my empty canteen
Fearing to look at hell’s closing scene
So many mates lie on the beaches around
Water falls on this desolate and holy ground
Poetry and Verse 