Colin F. Jones


None with their spite can cloud our vinculum,
‘Tis a bond of friendship that can’t be undone,
For soldiers of the field with deep appulse,
Depend upon each other when foe assaults.
The culminating point is never reached,
Thus what it is that binds us is not breached.
The fear shared; the moments of despair,
When the Devil in the cordite combs his hair.
When the demons from his spears seek to kill,
And break us down that we might lose the will,
To stand together as mates to face the foe,
Perhaps to falter with their every blow.
Ah, so sublime is mateship in the field,
When we become a single battle shield.