I sit in the trench
The stench repulsing my nostrils,
A rat runs over my chest
Yet all I can do is try and rest – impossible.
My leg, I think, is infected
And a fellow soldier, I think, had detected
That I was not a German soldier at all,
But an English spy.
When I was caught, I was told to recall
All I had learned about their plan
And there was one man
Standing in their way.
No matter how many times I say ‘nein’
I know what is to come
And I will just feel numb
The shot – a red trickle runs down my arm
I try my best to say calm
But I cannot, as crimson flows
It shows
The succulent colour of scarlet.
I am delusional – I see him aim for one last shot
Numb and even more hot
But this time in the head
And finally I am released, I am dead.