God, I’m not very good at this.
I wakened early to the sound of one lark. Imagine…singing in this ghastly place.
Sergeant said that this morning we would move out.
Comes as a relief after three weeks in this muck and rain and monotony. Some sort of artillery fire will pulverize the field before us for a good two thousand yards. “Jerry” will be given quite a shock.
Eight A.M. departure, regardless. Hope that the French boys to the rear get the timing right with their firepower.
Hate to be walking under that kind of downpour.
I worry about Freddy. Gone last night with two more on recon. Should have been back two hours ago. He had volunteered.
Always the optimist. Always the believer. Frequently pulling that little Testament of his and throwing up a prayer request or thanksgiving.
Imagine, thanksgiving out here, in this. He had also come from around Brandon, but I had never met him ’til the ship.
Something clicked between us. He would just laugh when the boys called him “Parson Fred”.
I worry about him, God. Please be his Protector right now.
I worry for all our sakes. Our few things packed. Ammo ready. Chaplain will probably say his piece in another forty minutes.
God, I hope I am doing this right. Help us. Go before us. Do I dare say this at all when the Huns ahead are your children too? Can’t this all just be over?
I know you are there. Hear my prayer…Father, save me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
Written on August 11, 2014
Submitted by dougb.21370 on February 26, 2023
Modified by dougb.21370 on February 26, 2023
- 1:25 min read
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|Stanza Lengths||2, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1|
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"Down to business in the Trenches" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 25 Sep. 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/152300/down-to-business-in-the-trenches>.