to a better place they were told,
where they could work for the good of the Soviet Union.
They were being transported to the worst possible place
a man could have gone.
The unforgiving cruel wasteland that was Siberia.
To die. die slowly.
Frozen to death in the middle of this horrendous desolation,
or cling on to life, however awful it might be.
To survive and to hope – hope there would be a way out.
Please God, don’t let me die here.
Red Poppies on Monte Cassino/Czrwone Maki na Monte Cassino
Red Poppies on Monte Cassino, instead of dew, drank Polish blood,
As the soldiers crushed them in falling, for the anger was more potent than death.
Years will pass and ages will roll, but traces of bygone days will stay
And the poppies of Monte Cassino will be redder having quaffed Polish blood.
They charged through fire like madmen, countless were hit and fell, like the cavalry at
Somosierra, like the men at Rokitno years ago,
They attacked with fury and fire, and they got there.
They got to the top, and their white and red scarlet standard, they placed on the ruins ‘midst clouds.
Czrwone maki na Monte Cassino Zamiast rosy pily polska krew.
Przejda i wieki przemina, Pozostana slady dawnych dni
Iwszystkie maki na Monte Cassino czerwiensze bede bo z polskiej wzrosna krwi.
Runeli przez ogien, stracency, niejeden z nich dostal i padi
jak ci z Samosierry szalericy. Jak ci spod Raclawic z przed lat.
I sztander swoj bialo czerwony Zatkneli na gruzach wsrod chmur
Published by Whittles Publishing