So valiant was our fight, so glorious the strife, for twelve days we struggled, day and night. So scarce was ammo, we passed it around, each one of us, down to one round. Shadowy figures, fade in and out, darkness rolls in, shrouding the ground. With ammo so low, and spirits run dry, bayonets were drawn all down the line. With midnight approaching the whistle was blown, up and over, into the unknown. With a thunderous blow, the MG's let out, brothers rushed forth, senselessly cut down. This was the life, in the mud and the muck. Trenches filled with bodies, I had seen enough. As I rushed forward, I was struck down, in a hail of lead, my body was drowned. My soul now wanders, these long lost fields, glory now faded, the land now healed. Our struggle has been forgotten, our sacrafice unknown, my brothers bodies now marked by mere stones. I died for my country, so glorious indeed, my struggle now faded, in fields now so green.
