Missing in Action

The screams of the men, the noise of a gun,
The thick black clouds and choking grey smoke,
He slipped in mud but continued to run,
“To the trenches” screamed the old Aussie bloke.

Down the troops jumped, into the deep hole,
As Sydney wiped the cold sweat from his brow,
Poor Harold was shot, God rest his soul,
Old Sydney was lost and asked himself, “How”?

The shooting continued late into the night,
And Sydney’s poor men were beginning to fade,
He knew it was over; he had lost the fight,
But while in deep thought, a simple plan was made.

He got to his feet and rallied the men,
They all knew his plan and were ready to leave,
Then out of the trench scurried no more then ten,
With Sydney out front, through the bush they did weave.

The deafening gun shots echoed in their ears,
And gradually ten diminished to four.
Then suddenly Sydney fell away from his peers,
From a shot to his head, blood began to pour.

His corpse was lost in the tangle of trees,
As were some others, including his mate.
A letter was sent to each sweet mother,
Telling them harshly of their sons ugly fate.