The Letter (Wayne Taylor, Bonavista)<br /> <br /> Amid the rifle fire and shells<br /> that were the way of no man's land<br /> He thought of those he left at home<br /> and took a pencil in his hand<br /> On scrap of paper tinged with red<br /> he thought a bit and wrote some lines<br /> To send back home to Newfoundland<br /> to reach them by the autumn time<br /> <br /> The screaming of the howitzer shells<br /> flung from behind the front trench line<br /> Towards the enemy just ahead<br /> did not disturb his peace of mind<br /> For it was now so common-place<br /> the deadly pattern of the days<br /> He crouched below the parapet<br /> and tried to think of what to say<br /> <br /> There was not much that he could write<br /> amid the death, the noise, the shells<br /> He couldn't tell his mom and dad<br /> the trenches were a living hell<br /> Instead he wrote and asked them of<br /> the fish, the gardens, and the bay<br /> And tell them they should worry not<br /> for he'd be home right soon, some day<br /> <br /> He broke the pencil lead before<br /> he finished writing to send home<br /> And then took out his bayonet<br /> to put another sharp point on<br /> He stood to look across the top<br /> across the muddy no man's land<br /> Then fell into the front line trench<br /> A rifle round from sniper's hand<br />   Submitted By: wayne taylor