Remember Me

denny bastian 2012

Above this dirty trench the land is stark,

of muddy ground, of fields unfed, 

of shattered trees, and bloody craters

make shallow graves for comrades dead.

I fear that death before me lies;

my life hangs by a fragile thread.

The cold and wet chills my soul,

and thoughts of home fill my head.

I tremble to think of Mama’s cry

when they tell her that I am dead.

O’ be still my thoughts for duty calls.

"O’er the top,” the words I dread.

Grab my rifle, climb up from this trench,

curse this mud, keep low my head

the bombs and bullets search for me.

Run for that crater so far ahead.

“OH MY GOD! the darkness comes.

Mama, Mama, I smell your baked bread.”

Remember me,

Remem…

ber...

me.