For Veterans Day, a poem of father's

Father ran away to the army when he was 16, in 1921. The people who trained him, and the stories he heard, were of the warriors of the first World War. I'm posting this one for Veterans Day. I was emailed by a veteran that the description of warfare is accurate.

ZERO HOUR

Grey stars agleam in a blank, dead sky
    Grey guns agrowl below.


Grey clad men out beyond the wire.
    Grey fields in the star-shells glow.

The barrage is a pounding symphony
    That ears attuned cannot hear.
There's something flicking the parapet
    There's something above you fear!

Not fear of "stopping one" above,
    Or fear for the man beside.
There's something flicking the parapet
    There's a fear that you cannot hide.

"Stand By!" The rifle is cool in your hand
    And your heart pounds hard and quick.
There's something flicking the parapet
    Number Three of the squad is sick.

The rifle hurts the palm of your hand
    Like gripping a stiff wire brush
There's something flicking the parapet
    "Walk slow through the wire, then rush!"

The whistle! The ladders! Up over the edge!
    And your legs seem stiff and sore.
There's something flicking the parapet
    Number Three is sick no more!

Grey stars agleam in a blank dead sky
    Grey guns agrowl below.
Grey faces turned to the glowing stars
    Where men lie dead in a row.

                El Tigre.


http://www.iment.com/maida/family/father/poems/poems.htm#zero