Comments about Damian Cranney
In a cold bleak field, a soldier lay dying.
There were others around him, Who also were crying,
The medics had already tried to gain ground,
But the incessant chatter of maxims and mausers,
That chewed up the grass and the mud all around,
kept the bravest of brave, from risking his trouscrs,
And the dying from living, or their mothers from Sighing.