Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet in the Battlefield to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
The trench was cold with the mud of the night and the mist of the morning hung low,
When the bugle rose from the eastern hill and the soldiers stood to go.
Each man held a letter close, a photograph, a prayer to say,
For the sun that lit the barbed-wire rows might be the last of his days.
Yet courage is not the absence of fear but the steady step through it,
And they climbed the ladders one by one, with the fear and the faith to fit.
The sky turned gold above the smoke, and a whisper ran the line,
Hold on, brothers, hold on, for the dawn is yet to shine.
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Commentary
An eight-line epic about the last quiet minutes before a charge. The trench is cold and the sky is only beginning to turn gold, and every soldier carries a small piece of home.
“The trench was cold with the mud of the night and the mist of the morning hung low” when “the bugle rose from the eastern hill.” Each man holds “a letter close, a photograph, a prayer to say,” knowing the sun over the wire “might be the last of his days.”
The poem defines courage as “not the absence of fear but the steady step through it,” and the soldiers climb the ladders “one by one.” A whisper runs the line: “Hold on, brothers, hold on, for the dawn is yet to shine.”