It was hard in those trenches.
Cut off from the rest of the world.
Cold and wet
And muddy.
Left without the right equipment:
Brush handles for rifles.
The government sending the right signals
But sadly failing to produce.
We soldiered on,
Following the rules of engagement
Laid down by the top brass.
Keep your head down lad!
We dug in for weeks.
Not knowing what day it was.
No sense of time.
Our old routines long gone.
Nowhere to go
And nothing to do
But hide.
But then we emerged.
Looking forward to victory.
Marching heads aloft
Across the battlefield.
Confident that soon our boffins will come up
With some A Bomb to
Finish them off.
But wait.
The enemy isn’t finished.
Indeed it’s resurgent.
Gathering it’s troops
For a deadly
Counter-attack.
We may be war weary.
Fed up of the carnage
And having to hide
Like rats.
But, “Back to the trenches boys (and girls!)!”
Is the cry
From above.
Our commanders are in a panic.
They steer us to the nearest bolt hole
As Meerkats escaping a bird of prey.
For we may be weary
Of all this
But our enemy is deadly.
Our enemy?
You guessed it:
Covid 19.
Paul Butters
© PB 13\9\2020.
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