The Enchantress Poem by Gert Strydom

Death’s the enchantress who was visiting
but she did seek out everybody but me
and in war somehow I stayed from her wiles free
while around me her presence did sting

as if with everybody else she had a wild fling
and at times she looked lovely
but mostly it was awfulness that I did see
while bullets past me did sing.

Far too suddenly the men once hot tempered
wilted with blood from their bodies flowing
shot to pieces, bombed and in agony were screaming
while they laid shattered
with her embrace still glowing
as they begged for something to be redeeming.