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.