SMOKED  - - - For the "Clothed" Comp

Tentatively they rose from their trenches
Slowly deserting rickety wooden benches
Surprisingly rifles and guns are left behind
As thoughts of Christmas enter their mind
Such a happy time for families and friends
An apparent cease-fire and making amends
Helmets and coats make good goalposts
A game of football is their Christmas toast
One-nil, one one, two-nil, score unimportant
Laughing, joking, running and having such fun
At some point, they'll have to return to the gun
They're out of breath they've scored many goals
They'll have to return to trenches and fox holes
Before that happens they share a welcome smoke
They share family photos and memories bespoke
They share chocolate and bags of boiled sweets
Hopes that one day they can return to the streets
Suddenly the silence deafens, awkward handshakes
No General punished for their all their order mistakes
Regretfully they make their way back to their trenches
Affixing bayonets sat on rickety wooden benches
Unusually the trenches are bathed in candlelight
They sing Christmas carols all through the night
Then the fateful order comes: "Over the top lads"
Whistles scream like banshees affecting mental health
Some cry, some urinate some actually shit themselves
Ladders set we climb, first to stand are all mown down
As bullets and grenades blow body parts all around
He saw the man who shared a smoke he hesitated
He was shot in the face for his crime cause he waited
Clasping a blood-stained photograph of his daughter
Questioning God and his wisdom for unholy slaughter
Kissing his photo, his eyes closed, his light went out
Still not understanding what this bloodshed was about
Many men died
Many widows cried
Comforting their fatherless children
Too late the peace treaty
Mum lost her sweetie
A daughter with a broken heart
Without her Dad, it won't restart
Celebrations of peace are marred
Memories of the dead are too bloody hard
She forgets his face her memory broke
She sees him in mist and a large cloud of smoke