The March to Soissons

We marched at night, pitch black
Marched in single file, on the alert
Began to rain, and we walked blindly
Feeling for the roads with our feet.

I listen to the long rolls of thunder
As the rain drips from my helmet
I watch the white stabs of lightning
That intensified the dark.

We have forgotten the machine guns that sowed death on the hill
And the shrapnel that showered down at Blanc Mont
But we will remember the march to Soissons
No battle ever tried us as hard as the march to Soissons.

The rain ceased, and the clouds faded
The sky grew grey with dawn; a handful of stars went out.
We lingered, lightened, hastened,
We dimly perceived, through a mist of fatigue
That a cloudless day was coming, and the world
Was new, washed and clean - and quiet!

Not a gun in sight, not a sound to be heard
But the sound of the mud muffling the sound of hobnailed boots.
As we marched, and marched, and marched
To Soissons.