# Trench Duty

Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake,

Out in the trench with three hours’ watch to take,

I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then

Hear the gruff muttering voices of the men

Crouching in cabins candle-chinked with light.

Hark! There’s the big bombardment on our right

Rumbling and bumping; and the dark’s a glare

Of flickering horror in the sectors where

We raid the Boche; men waiting, stiff and chilled,

Or crawling on their bellies through the wire.

“What? Stretcher-bearers wanted? Some one killed?”

Five minutes ago I heard a sniper fire:

Why did he do it?… Starlight overhead—

Blank stars. I’m wide-awake; and some chap’s dead.

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