The Night Of Truce

In these deep trenches,

Amidst this war.

Terrible stenches.

And so much more.



Bayonets stab.

Bullets do sting.

Reaching to grab,

The closest thing.



Cold and wet night.

From heavy rains.

Leave me in fright,

Of my blood stains.



Bodies lay lonely.

Between these ditches.

Pained moans are only

Sounds of Death's riches.



Neither side wants this.

We wish to go away.

Each man just wants his

Children to which to play.



A quiet Christmas Eve.

What sounds do we hear?

A song of whose tunes weave,

Ever coming near.



And on this night,

Men rise and state,

"We shall not fight."

"We'll show no hate."



Handshakes abound.

Happiness and hugs.

Laughter did sound.

With warm drinks in mugs.



I met a young German.

Relief in his eyes.

Like me, he was human.

With this I felt wise.



My Bible I would gift.

But he gave me a frown.

Had I caused a new rift?

Because he seemed so down.



He reached into his jacket,

Where a gun just might fit.

To give me from his pocket,

A dented tin shave kit.



I then smiled, and was able,

His frown understood.

By nod, our gifts were equal,

And we're just as good.



Alarms of fighting,

Ended our Noel.

Back into hiding,

Crevasses of Hell.



When the fight was done,

And I searched about,

To see if we'd won.

Of this, I would doubt.



And there lay on the ground,

A bible with a hole.

My new friend was around,

But was no longer whole.



I wept from the sight.

This could not be true.

This war is not right.

Youth taken on cue.



One night of calm,

Can become many.

Right in our palm,

Will there be any?



The war is long over now.

And why it still seems to fit.

I clean my grey stubble, how?

With a dented tin shave kit.