I’d been on duty from two till four.
I went and stared at the dug-out door.
Down in the frowst I heard them snore.
‘Stand to!’ Somebody grunted and swore.
Dawn was misty; the skies were still;
Larks were singing, discordant, shrill;
They seemed happy; but I felt ill.
Deep in water I splashed my way
Up the trench to our bogged front line.
Rain had fallen the whole damned night.
O Jesus, send me a wound to-day,
And I’ll believe in Your bread and wine,
And get my bloody old sins washed white!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the monologue spoken by a soldier who is losing faith in God and man, because of the war fought in the trenches of fear and uncertainty. He hopes to get wounded for a respite from fighting; if Jesus grants this, ' I'll believe in your bread and wine'.