Crimson ponds litter the playing field,
Each side returning barks and spits of death.
Depressed lives being taken by the flashes that come from across the deluge,
Metal arms punch shells into the air.
The smell of gas hits the snuffling noses of the soldiers,

Now white crosses take up fields,
The bodies no longer there but forever in our memories.
Spirits still moan in the defening silence that lingers in the air.