2021.02.08.
The Snow March
Marching in the snow, stepping on iceWe can't even tell road from river
The horses are beaten, but we can't leave them
Just what is this place? It's all enemy country
Oh well, if we breathe a little bravery
I'll only ask for little: two of your cigarettes
Dried fish that won't cook becomes our half-boiled meals
It's not long before we're living half-boiled days
For this cold that can't be endured, a bonfire
Surely it will smoke, chaps! The green wood smoulders
Putting on a bitter face, a skilful speech
The 'sour' thing here's a pickled plum
The clothes we wear are our carefree beds
We cover under our overcoats on knapsack pillows
With the warmth of our backs, the snow thaws
Soaking wet our millet-husk bedding
In bivouacs that won't tie, there are dreams
That the moon peeks into, coldly
Because we came here offering our lives
With a death resolution, even as we charge shouting
If the fortunes of war so wish, we must die in battle
The donated padded clothes, entwined in duty
Slowly, slowly, fasten upon our necks
Anyhow, the intention wasn't to let us return alive