No Time To Spare. - Poem by Rhys Burton
Unknown to them, what they were doing,
Signing up to join the war.
Men misled by advertisements,
Then forced to battle and face the gore.
No time to spare for dead or dying.
No time for grief, bombs are still flying.
Hopeless thoughts running through their head,
“We can’t do this, we’re practically dead.”
Forced to march into the heart of war,
With panicked looks upon their faces.
Knowing this could be the end,
But knowing they can’t leave their places.
Cuts and bruises will be made,
But mental scars will never fade.
As they staggered through the muddy marsh,
The soldier’s life was very harsh.
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