I have trudged
Not trudged through, wet mud
Leaves sticking to boots, laces
Unfolding rigid with drying mud
I have trudged
Have not trudged through ruined
Carthage. Bare feet caked with drying blood
City walls falling around me
Trudging.
I have not trudged ashore
Soaking wet, coughing, trudging. I have not
Shaved a beard in Lepanto
I have trudged
Heaved no cutlass on the sodden grounds near
Waterloo.
Shot not once or twice
I have trudged,
Never through fire stormed basements
In Stalingrad,
Never been bothered by the Volga's mud
Or sniper shots, a thousand gutted alleys reeking of death
And blood.
Hither, I have trudged, but never in war.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...