Poetry

The Valley

The Valley

Look at them, down in the valley,
crossing the untended farm,
a patrol, thirty men, walk on eggshells,
hoping to pass without harm.
But today, their last, despite sunshine,
on a warm, Octoberish afternoon,
fire pins them down from the treeline,
they don’t know it, but the end will come soon.
A reinforced company holds the woods there,
surprised by this bold daylight test,
they quickly suppress the intruders,
and maneuver a force to the west.
Artillery closes the back door,
machine guns deny them advance,
fresh hell from the west enfilading,
devours their last futile chance.
It’s over in less than ten minutes,
thirty men lay dead in a field,
their blood, soaking quickly beneath them,
will increase the farm’s next autumn yield.
"There will be peace...,
Peace in the valley..."





contributed by Dwight Jenkins [This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
         
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