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Draped over the trench, a bloated and sickening corpse

Staring down from above with its leering vacant eyes

Its mouth slightly ajar, perhaps in a mocking smirk

Its skin seems alive with a hundred flies

For a while the war is forgotten

As I ponder this ghastly sight

Am I accustomed to this horror?

Should it still cause me to fright?

His uniform is German, my rifle sights have spotted many

Not for want has my bolt hit home, my trigger squeezed asunder

They are no personal enemy of mine, the German Private soldier

I've shared a beer with one back home in simpler times Down Under

So i feel I must write to the parents of this Soldier

Give him a proper funeral, for his honour as well as mine

Tell them I knew him not but felt sad for this grinning corpse

And mark a map where he was buried within the Australian lines