All that glitters is not gold
Just
like enemy tracer rounds
They
can hypnotise you as they fly
Seeming
to have no sound
Ours
are green there’s are yellow
They
bounce of rocks and disappear
Writing
their name in the black sky
They
can fill a soldier with fear
Your
shoulder ache as you blast away
Flashes
illuminating your mates
Sustained
fire to the enemy front
Sending
your foe to their fate
Back
home in Blighty on Bonfire night
Sends
you back thirty years to that hill
Where
all that glittered was not gold
Not
then for fun more to kill.
© Tony McNally
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