Yes I conquered these woods in the fall

Me wounded

Comrades falling by my side-Dying in my arms

Again and again we ****** ourselves against them like a wave against sand

Weaving through the trees

We ran out of bullets and had to use knives

Out numbered by a margin legends are made of

Being stabbed or shot always somewhere non-vital

Gasping but never crying at the pain

The dead leaves under us with their own sharp gasp

Then I was called to dinner

Throwing Pellet gun and Beer can grenades aside

I ran home

Yes

As a child I conquered these woods in the fall