The colours, yellow, blue, and white, and red,
Adorn the bodies lying in the snow.
The living, coloured so, pass by the dead
As onwards to uncertain fate they go.
The naked frosted trees, row after row,
Give little shelter as the last leaves fall.
The bitter cold it bites as chill winds blow.
A coat of ice clings to each shattered wall.
While into frozen rubble cold men crawl,
High in the safety of the sombre clouds
Watch soulless robots, and the shots they call,
And blackness blows and cloaks white winter shrouds.
Comes night, when cold into each bone it seeps.
The soldier says once more his prayers, and sleeps.
— D.N. O’Brien