The crystals crept under the wire.
A silent killer slowly advancing,
In our boots,
On our faces,
Tiny shrapnel shards tearing at tissue and flesh.
An unseeable fight between moisture and cold,
Blackened toes, waiting to fall off.
Blue noses and creeping cold.
This is what every soldier in the trenches fears.
Frostbite really does bite. 
This is a really good poem. I like how you called it 'the cold killer', when I saw the title I presumed that it meant that the killer was cold blooded, but it is legitimately 'The cold killer'!!
ReplyDeleteI love the line: Blackened toes, waiting to fall off.' It's really effective! :-)
Well done Dudley,
Bex!!