Author Ernst Toller Through shell-holes, puddles of mud, they trudge. Over frozen men in foxholes they stumble. Rats dart whistling across the distances. Dead fingers rain down & tap on rotting doors. Signal-rockets, corpse-lanterns… To the ditch, to the ditch. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments