Axis & Allies - damowords

All Quiet on the Western Front
Twas just another day in the trenches,
The ʹstand toʹ bugler blew before the dawn,
From profound slumbers the soldier wrenches,
Slugs, frogs, bats, rats & beetles flee his yawn;
Breakfast before
Shelling begins at eight...
Less murder more the bore men call the ‘Morning Hate’.
Those walking with the Lord worshipt,
Others played or talkʹd instead,
Those gaunt are by despair oft grippʹd,
Some stood up & lost their head,
The ‘stand‐to’ callʹd as sunshine slipt
Into a bed of red,
The ‘Evening Hate’ cooling with fading light
Both sides prepare patrols to pass the night.
The dayʹs tedium passes hard,
Some requisition rest,
Some muse, some bard, some lose at cards,
Some gaze out to the West
Watching a streak of red that might have issued from Christʹs breast.
France
March
1918
German Offensive
Reading Nietzsche, muse‐immured in Homer,
Herr Hitler huddles in his solitude,
ʺAn allright sort of chap, but a loner,ʺ
His comrades say, ʺTho with spirit imbued!ʺ
One fitful dream,
One lord over it all,
Released with banshee scream Satanus caught his soul!
Herr Goering flies above the ground
Where stormtrooper religions
With one desire to kill & wound
Like diabolique engines
Roll thro stunnʹd trenches, hard boots pound
Cats among the pigeons,
With camauflage & special torpedo
A surge of strength wherever they may go.
Max Stemmlerʹs unit must advance
He kissʹd Aimee goodbye,
ʺOur sweet Constance best left in France,ʺ
Their babe began to cry ‐
As off he rushʹd up to the front a tender love did die.
Flanders
June
1918