Gun shots sounded in the freezing North,
From both armies soldiers plunging forth.
Men with determined gleams in their eyes,
Fighters, warriors everyone dies.

The smell of loss lurked in the mist,
Despite this wary souls persist.
Dead friends left you to mourn,
Yet you dutifully obey the battle horn.

Inside tents there is panic present
Orderlies scrambling in a state of dissent.
A musty sickness fills misty air,
For these tortured men this is not rare.

Just when it seemed no hope remained,
Fighting ceased as did the suffering of the pained,
But memories of the combatants endure,
Memories of a generation who's motivations weren't pure.