The L. T. was green,
And equally mean,
Full of swagger and bluster,
And all the authority he could muster.
Bold in command,
This brash little man,
Who strode all around
Like he owned the **** ground--
Barking orders and spittle,
Never regarding how little
Regard in which he was held.

It was the midnight shift,
And L. T. in a tiff,
Cause his coffee had run out.
The L. T. with a shout,
Demanded a fresh *** be made--
No matter if the deployment was delayed.

In stepped the Sergeant broad and tall,
Striding to the Lieutenant who suddenly seemed small.
“The troops have a duty to move this line.
Your coffee can wait--this ain’t the time.
And never raise your voice to one of mine.”
The Sergeant stared a moment then turned on a dime,
And made himself a cup of joe taking his sweet *** time

Losing you is not an event or occasion..
It continues, happens over and over again..  

I lose you when i see a bike like yours..
When comes the favourite tv show of yours...

I lose you when i see your childhood pics...
Your proud uniform and your p.o.p. clicks...

I feel like holding you and kissing you...
Loose you every night i start missing you...

I lose you when i cook your favourite food...
I loose you with my deserted motherhood...  

I lose you when i wake up in the mornings...
I still clean and arrange all your belongings...

I lose you when any brave heart is killed...                                                        ­                     When the void in  someone’s life not filled...  

I lose you when i find the pen.. your toy...
Will keep you alive in my writing O my brave boy...

-A young martyr’s mother’s voice

The snow was blowing among the trees. In large wet flakes it tumbled down.
My captain turned, as if to speak, but from his lips there came no sound.
A red rose bloomed there on his chest -staining dark the Wehrmacht grey.
I looked in horror as he pitched face forward to the ground.
“******” I yelled and ducked for cover. The copse of trees echoed the sound.

Somewhere out there he awaits; the Devil’s son, the cunning foe.
He’s stalked our party for three days yet leaves no footprints in the snow.
I served in France in Forty –one; before   these Russians were our foes.
I shiver but it’s not from fear; it’s just that we lack winter clothes.
I motion briskly with my right hand, I think the shooter must be there
my corporal nods and starts to move; perhaps he can outflank this man.

My soul is black for I’ve done some things;
  for which I once would have been ashamed.
I saw the Jewess try to shield her babe
as I placed them in a common grave.

This man out there, a warrior; he risks his life upon command.
He is clever, this one, he waits his chance.
Either its him or me that’s dammed.
The drifting snowflakes hide his breath.
But He’s still out there this I know.

My Captain lies still upon the earth
and is slowly covered by the snow.

We are soldiers who risk our lives.
We sacrifice for the Fatherland.
We dream of a woman and a warm bed
Never of Death’s cold clammy hand

My men cry out, the fox is flushed
The ****** has at last been found.

It’s true what they say of the bullet that kills you;
I never even heard the sound.