Forced March Poem by jackilton peachum

Crazy! Yes, yes, the old homestead's gone- back wall falling in,
Winter cold wind picks the ashes- plum tree's chopped down.
This vision- stumble forward- tortured legs not working,
he who lunging up to last chance before death-trench call,
advance- and if my legs had wings,still- still
one goes on, breathless- exhausted- falling,falling.
He who don't dare to die because- because he's crazy with it!
And there's a dear one waiting, perhaps a saner end-
or perhaps, in the ruin, snow falling,a few small fires still flicker.