More rubbish poetry

Here’s another poem that came into my head unbidden. It may be tripe but it’s my tripe.

The March

Dawn came, we march another day

With it came rain to drench us on our way

We picked up our packs and formed in threes

And set off through the rain and trees.

The mud was thick upon our boots

We stumbled over rocks and roots

We trudged towards a distant trench

Towards the awful gut-wrenching stench.

When will it end this dreadful fight?

Will we see another night?

Yet still we trudge through rain and trees
Formed up still in our threes.