All that glitters is not gold

Just like enemy tracer rounds

They can hypnotise you as they fly

Seeming to have no sound

Ours are green there’s are yellow

They bounce of rocks and disappear

Writing their name in the black sky

They can fill a soldier with fear

Your shoulder ache as you blast away

Flashes illuminating your mates

Sustained fire to the enemy front

Sending your foe to their fate

Back home in Blighty on Bonfire night

Sends you back thirty years to that hill

Where all that glittered was not gold

Not then for fun more to kill.

© Tony McNally