The outpost trench is deep with mud tonight.
Cold with the
mountain winds and two week's rain,
I watch the concertina The
starlight-
Scope hums, and rats assault the bunkers again.
You watch with me: Owen,
Blunden, Sassoon.
Through sentry
duty, everything you meant
Thickens to fear of nights without a
moon.
War's war. We are, my friends, no different.