Under a soggy cotton sky
from trench to trench they scrambled
like Sea Turtles' children,
connecting moments with breath
as long as they were able.
Unwilling crusaders, numbed deeper than cold can reach,
they waited, weary of dangers and death.
Hatching anew with each charge,
they ran through water-heavy air,
upon empty shells in the fields.
With outstreached arms they embraced red mud
and struggled for the safe-sea
of the next trench.
In silence
they reviewed the beach saying,
The life that has bourne me
through these years
is still in my hands
and my eyes.
Heads down,
no other thought
they followed the call,
up and out.