| The Bivouac It was a circle round the fire, hands stretched out towards warmth. Comrades and friends together, lonely for home. Someone led the group into song and for a while all forgot the war. They forgot the blood and guts of a battle fought that day. As the last strains of song faded out one by one, they drifted away in search of brief rest. Crisp frost covered sleeping forms, and a harvest moon looked down on absentee fathers and sons, dreaming of crops and neglected families. Next year would surely be a great rich harvest. |
 |
| MAXIMIZE PAGE FOR VIEWING |
 |
 |
 |
|
| NEXT |
 |