Private Harold Wright
Bill Baker
The defining sound of exploding shells,
moves the ground under my feet.
Thick smoke blankets the fields between our enemies and
ourselves.
I can hear the bullets as they strike my brothers in arms.
The dreadful smell of death fills my senses.
I feel the hot burning sensation,
as my bullet finds me.
My sight begins to dim.
My heart beat slows to a whisper.
Gently the light begins to fade.
Footnote: This poem was inspired by the following inscription on a cemetery monument:
Private Harold H. Wright
Born – June 13th, 1888
Killed in action July 15th, 1918 at the 2nd Battle of Marne in France/WWI