In the dark, past no man’s land,
When the cold night’s wind whispered low,
We heard a most incongruous sound;
christmas carols sung by our foe.
Someone raised a flag of truce
and we met them on contested ground.
We shared our food, some cigarettes.
And hummed along with their joyful sound.
Our fellows sang what tunes we knew-
In broken English they replied.
Together we buried our common dead
Who belonged now not to either side.
I hear in some sectors games were played.
a game of football of a sort.
Sadly it was the briefest pause
ere we resumed our deadly sport.
In years that followed no quarter was given
So bitter had our men become.
There were no songs left in our hearts.
after the slaughter of Verdun.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
In the dark, past no man’s land,
When the cold night’s wind whispered low,
We heard a most incongruous sound;
christmas carols sung by our foe.
Someone raised a flag of truce
and we met them on contested ground.
We shared our food, some cigarettes.
And hummed along with their joyful sound.
Our fellows sang what tunes we knew-
In broken English they replied.
Together we buried our common dead
Who belonged now not to either side.
I hear in some sectors games were played.
a game of football of a sort.
Sadly it was the briefest pause
ere we resumed our deadly sport.
In years that followed no quarter was given
So bitter had our men become.
There were no songs left in our hearts.
after the slaughter of Verdun.
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