from a diary dated 25 december, 1914...
By Mary Rose Corkery '18
The Western Front is wild--
The Western Front is raw Every day screams of hope exiled-- Every night howls with paranoia. I used to play in the mud-- As a child of three or four Never did my mind deliver-- Premonitions of mud and war. One fateful dawn of December-- I awoke to a sight of fear My friend, my brother, my ally-- Mouthing footsteps very clear. Maybe my silent night is upon me— And only weapons will sing their carols From this trench I am ready to forever flee-- Until one clear call from the distance rings: truce. [Vivre et laisser vivre, Live and let live. Joyeux Noël, Merry Christmas.] - 12. 25. 1914. |