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When you hear the whistle,
Over the top you go -
Out into the blackness
To run towards the foe
My feet feel dull and heavy;
My heart I can hear thud
As I try to move on forward
Through the thick and slimy mud.
“God help me” I keep praying
Underneath my breath.
Strange how I start praying
Now I’m facing death.
My comrades they are falling;
I see them hit the ground.
I reach the safety of the trench
As bullets whizz around.
But soon I’ll hear the whistle -
Over the top you go.
Once more into the blackness,
Once more to face the foe.
Back home they say we’re heroes
And medals we have won.
But out here there are only losses of
Husbands, fathers, sons.

by Margaret Durant 

Barbed wire

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