War - Ww1 - The Bath Poem by Paul Warren

An ordinary Australian from an ordinary country place
Who rallied to the flag's call with god's good grace
He was one of the 33rd Battalion "New England's Own"
Into this swirling maelstrom they were duly thrown
The Great War was raging and to the Western Front he went
A lottery of shell, bullet and gas was his unending lament.

In 1917 the Germans attacked with a fury not before wrought
The Australians held the line and were tested as they fought
As he was defending their position with bravery a required trait
German gas came seeping to him seeking out in its hate
The miasma invading his body all the way through him
His choking and coughing making his survival very grim.

The stretcher bearer heroes used all their pluck and gall
Through the maelstrom for their mates pleading at their call
They found him helpless lying solitary in the field
This is where his fight began refusing to them to yield
His strength suffered with no breath and tiring cough
Back home for needed treatment his life clock now ticking off.

The doctors laboured long and thought he was on the mend
Then his skin began to pull apart and the pain was hard to end
They knew he would not last and the only option a tepid bath
This was to ease his pain his life was on a slow downward path
For four long years he lived on with each touch a distress
This brave ANZAC met his fate showing all the world no less.

When I heard his story and wondered how he faired
What did he think when alone and so very scared
Were his secret thoughts of all that he had lost?
What the war had meant and counting its final cost
Or did he sit and wonder where his life would be
If he didn't make the decision and went to fight for me.

© Paul Warren Poetry