All day they heard guns,
And now as the rain thumped down on the tin roof,
They thought they were,
The killer bullets,
Which had sprayed them,
As they ran between the trenches,
But as they stepped out,
It was not bullets,
That struck them down,
But the bursting heavens,
That made there own craters in the mud,
And left their own imprint,
On the sad tired soldiers.
Nick Hilton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rain-at-war/
