Alone he stood within the trench, The oozing mud, the putrid stench, The weak winter sun rose o'er the hill. No-man's land was cold and still. Soon the guns will start to roar, Men will die again, once more. His listless eyes are filled with pain, Oh! Please God no, here comes the rain. He thinks of home so far away, Especially as it's Christmas Day. He wipes away a single tear Never mind I'll be home next year. This brave young man he did come through, What grateful thanks from me and you. Many medals he has to show For bravery all those years ago. Those sad old eyes still fill with pain, Memories of that mud and rain. Many friends he lost that day, In that futile war so far away.

George Betteridge (Raglan)