Sniper

Nigel Hallworth

SNIPER



It's midsummer's day and the bullets are flying


Composers and ploughboys and poets are dying


I could be next, or it might well be you


Or perhaps now the sniper, as snipers do


Has got bored with this trench


Or is writing a card to some blond-plaited wench


Or drinking his coffee from a keep-it-warm flask


Before turning again to his afternoon's task


Of picking off folk that have done him no harm


Just like shooting the rats on his father's farm



© nigel hallworth 2014