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.