Classic Poem

The long trench, twisting, turning, wanders wayward as a river
Through the poppy-flowers blooming in the grasses dewy wet,
The buttercups sit shyly and the daisies nod and quiver,
Where the bright defiant bayonets rim the sandbagged parapet,
In the peaceful dawn the trenches hold a menace and a threat.

The last faint evening streamer touches heaven with its finger,
The vast night's starry legion sends its first lone herald star,
Around the bay and traverse little twilight colours linger
And incense-laden breezes come in crooning from afar,
To where above the sandbags gleam the steely fangs of war.

All the night the frogs go chuckle, all the day the birds are singing
In the pond beside the meadow, by the roadway poplar-lined,
In the field between the trenches are a million blossoms springing
'Twixt the grass of silver bayonets where the lines of battle wind
Where man has manned the trenches for the maiming of his kind.