In Flemish clay, dug in,
Keen scouts on watch,
As we steal the farmer’s turnips.
Hidden in our warren, scurrying about,
Ears to the ground to hear the hunter’s shovel beneath,
Ears to the sky to hear the dread death from above;
First eggs of steel, then hawks of wood,
Keen leaden teeth on their sharpened bills.
Ah, the briars that snag us are sharp!
Ah, the death that awaits us is swift
As rifles roar and hounds bay
across the sodden fields!
We die, quick as we multiply.
Inspired by the active sectors of the First World War, especially the highly-vulnerable Ypres Salient where British soldiers held the low ground in deplorable conditions.