STRETCHER BEARERS

'There are some praising; words to speak,
Nay, loud words to shout on high,
By we who might their mercies seek,
Or extol the trades they ply;
They don't care much when orders come,
'Bout beating drum or trumpet blowing;
Caring, they sustain Life's sweet thrum
For men, whose blood, is outward flowing.

Whirring hot shrapnel cleaves the air,
And comrades fall mid stride;
Small time have they for fancy care,
They have no time to bide;
Staunch well the rushing red blood,
Give drugs to ease the pain,
Spread Mateship's balm, in full flood,
To lull dashed-Hope's refrain.

It's thus, in shattering War's surprise
Some musicians earn their pelf;
They give aid to men with stricken eyes,
With little regard for self;
Although they know what dangers come
Amid the battle's flow,
Hearing loud some different drum,
They grab aid packs and go!


 

@ Ron Boxall
21C D Company
1966-67

author: Ron Boxall

 

BACK  l  HOME