Colin F. Jones


I cannot claim to be what I was not,
For heroes are all born where blood doth clot,
I did not scratch myself that I did bleed,
Thus wounding me the foe did not succeed.
All those dreadful days and nights of fire,
Were more elation than fear should require,
For we were at the end where breaches shut,
Not where the bayonet thrust might cause a cut.
In retrospect by chance I was not killed,
Having naught to do with being especially skilled,
Just that I stood not where a bullet sped,
That might have produced a third eye in my head.
Therefore a hero? No a hero I was not,
Though yes I fired more than a single shot.