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The Stretcher Bearer By Mick Morris

By Black Country Bugle  |  Posted: March 13, 2014

By Mick Morris

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I am just a stretcher bearer

They say I don't have to fight,

But we follow them over the top

And work until the coming night.

We pick up all the pieces

Of the wounded and the dead,

And the threat of the German snipers

We have all come to dread.

Out there in No Man's Land

We search every bomb crater and deep hole,

Crawling through deep mud

Looking for corpses or unlucky souls.

We oil our calloused hands

Also the strap marks on our backs,

And the Generals get it wrong

For they don't know the facts.

I might be just a stretcher bearer

But we are still playing our parts,

Working from dawn to dusk

Although it breaks our hearts.

Bringing back the wounded

Or just a body or arm or leg,

Lord please hear my plea

And let it stop soon, to you I beg.

In last week's Bugle we said the poem entitled Under the fields of Flanders was by Mick Morris. It was by Mercy Jackson. Our sincere apology for our mistake - Editor

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