Death passed me by, but he touched my soul. While his scythe of fiery lead, cut a swathe through the pre-morn light. Bony fingers plucked holes in mortal flesh., To quench the reaper’s thirst. He passed me by , This time.
Author's Notes/Comments:
Crossing Corination Point an enemy machine gunner seemed to have a personal vendetta against me . Fortunately he missed.