I sit on the sparkle of snow,
Handcuffed to a pine sapling,
And my dirty, damp shoes are making love
To the winter cold.
Frostbite. Trenchfoot.
My chattering teeth
Think they're still leading
The distant rat-a-tat-tat
Of my American guns.
My God, can't Jerry
Just spare a cup of soup?
They are so calm:
One sings Silent Night under his breath.
Another cleans Belgian dirt from
The black mouth of a Luger.
Christmas is dawning
And Kentucky is so very far away.