Christmas Poem

 Christmas 1914 will be different,
 there will be a lot of presents,
still under the tree.

Fathers and sons,
Won't walk thought the door,
Each life touched by the war.

Young soldiers in a group,
regretting they lied about their age
It isn't fun and games.

In the trenches hearts are beating,
mud flying here and there,
sounds of screaming.

He held the gun in his hands,
he didn't want to be scarred for life
by killing someone new.

Lonika Williams