One hour before light in the soldier’s dawn,
Minute sounds slip by unheard,
In the cold stillness of frost.
A bush stirs in a whisper of wind,
The soldier sits tight awaiting the light.
Then he sees the Cavalry lined up in front,
The first sun streaks on their uniforms glinting,
Their breath steams from flaring nostrils.
Drawn sabres flash in the first light.
Then the gentle creak of bridle and saddle,
And now the trot to canter signals the advance.
The soldier sits still, waiting
Until they reach that tree on the right.
That’s when he’ll give the signal for the blanket of shells.
Explosions, gun shots, screams of horses and men.
Blood shed, death, to start a new day.
Still the soldier sits tight, a frozen tear on his cheek.