Like an engine, driving the shafts in an armoured car,
There are little hearts, powering the soldiers at war.
Listen to the bullets fly above your head,
As the civilians mourn the dead.
Duck down in your trenches for you might get shot,
As you watch the piles of lifeless bodies rot.
When you see a dense cloud of smoke coming,
Pull out your mask quickly, or you’d already be suffocating.
Have your weapon always ready,
And as you aim, keep your hands steady.
You want to make sure every shot counts,
and As minutes pass, the tension mounts.
On the whistle, run out of your tunnel,
And make a run for it, pointing the barrel-
Towards the enemy, or the young men with little hearts,
Too fragile to handle the terror of fire any war starts.
Just in case you don't know, this poem is about WW1 and trench warfare.