Prose Header

Through the Mud

by Will Gray

See the tanks, onward they come.
Clatter clatter, what a hum,
Still the rumble comes more and more,
Like advancing bulls that snort and roar,

Tracks, trunnion wheels, and cranks,
Uproot trees and tear down banks.
On through waving cornfields, orchards and woods,
Disgracefully turning them into seas of mud.

Mothers solemnly line the street to stand and watch
Is it my husband or my son in the hatch
With a cheery wave from left to right
Could this be the day before the fight

Turrets turn with angry stares
Pointing their guns everywhere
Iron monsters painted to stop the rust
Now make a pincer move and then a thrust

Tanks are not steeds for the knights of old
A carriage only for men so bold
Decorated with shields of mail,
Their fearsome firepower makes men quail

When the tanks begin to move
They have so many things to prove
Driver left, driver right
Straight forward into the fight

Onward, onward through the mud,
Advancing onward to shed their blood
Within the crews there are deep bonds
Alas many lie in the green fields beyond.

Copyright © 2008 by Will Gray

Home Page