Poetry Blogs (2020, WWII)

Belgium was beastly cold in December of ’44.  
Deep snow covered frozen ground as 
shattered forests crackled and groaned 
under the weight of ice. 
We barely felt our feet, 
even when we tried to warm them.
Frostbite was a constant threat.
The air was still; there was no wind.  
Dense clouds covered the sky
and snowfall lent a misty haze 
like falling fog. 

We hoped for a quick end t...

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