A Song of the Guns

In the mud‑filled trenches of Flanders, a soldier‑poet records the daily grind of artillery crews as they tend to their guns. He describes the clang of breech‑blocks, the choking rain, and the glow of distant shells that punctuate the night. The poem grounds the reader in the physical exhaustion and stubborn pride of men who live beneath steel thunder.

The verses call the guns both tyrants and caretakers, labeling the men their “slaves” who have bargained away flesh and thought for the firepower they command. Yet moments of unexpected tenderness slip through—a fleeting image of a woman’s garden beyond the wire, a quiet wish for peace amid the chaos. This tension gives the work a haunting, lyrical quality.

Listeners hear the crack of orders, the scratch of maps, and low, mournful roar of artillery as if it were a living beast. Composed during a lull in fighting and finished under midnight shellfire, the poem retains an immediacy that feels historic and intimate. It opens a window onto the mindset of those who kept the guns moving, without revealing later turns.