(ODE TO THE KEYBOARD WARRIORS)
Dug deep in dark trenches, with the worms and the rats,
Waiting to run through the storm in tin hats.
A prayer to their loved ones, it’s time to go soon,
A few drops of rain to fight a monsoon.
Fingers on triggers but what hope have they got?
Heading into the cloudburst, going over the top.
The fledglings of springtime, a summer denied,
But they’ll be remembered, their names etched with pride.
In bedrooms and kitchens, firing bullets from home,
The no man’s land bunkers of armies unknown.
Squealing and squirming as they pump out the flak,
For they are the vermin – rat-a-tat-tat.
Fingers on keyboards, they don’t know when to stop,
Always keeping their heads down, going over the top.
The pseudonym snipers, so brave from afar,
Will not be remembered, no-one cares who they are.