With Love From Thomas

Rosemary,

Our helmets are broken and leak
The duck-boards are moldy- they creak
Our guns are all rusty, our boots have gone crusty
How have we lived this past week?

Half the platoon has caught trench foot
Broken bones, battered limbs or a swelled gut
Death and disease, that’s all that we see
As we crawl through this terrible mud rut.

Shell shock is sending our men mad
We’ve had to lose many a strong lad
As they crumble and break, their minds just can’t take
The pressure, and its really quite sad.

I assume this is a farewell
I’ll be gone before long, I can tell
But I’ll be grateful for death, and its eternal rest
For taking me from this dire hell

So I close this letter with a tear
As I think of the last bitter year
That I didn’t spend with you, just this lousy platoon
I’ll meet you in heaven, my dear

With all my love,
Thomas