FicWad

December 10, 1915

We are conducting a night raid, tonight. I do not know what to expect, but the others say that I’ll want to leave my rifle here. I can see why, but I don’t want to leave it. It is a tool that I know will work every time. I do not know if my other tools will, though, and I can only rely on my knife. I am told to leave that, too. It is too big, they say, you’ll get caught if even a single light reflects off of it. So, I currently fashion a crude knife out of a stake used for the barbed wire. It is labor intensive, but the metal bends, at least. When I am done shaping it, I’ll then sharpen it. I hope I do it in time for the raid. And I pray everything goes well.

The Fee

As the shells fly,
and men die,
I ask why,
and quietly cry.

As men dream of sheep,
and They quietly creep,
I quietly weep,
as They crumble in a heap.

As we are in strife,
we think of life,
and our wife,
while we fashion a knife.

Slowly, I see,
the dawn come to be,
we all agree,
we have all paid The Fee.