Through hours of marching
And trenches of rain
Ignoring the cuts
Ignoring the pain.
With heads held up high
They march on into the night
With their guns at the ready
They prepare to fight.
Down on the battle field
AK47's start to shoot
Just missing an armoured head
But for some it's too late
They're already dead.
By Sian Mein
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem