Raining

Two galaxies drawn up Two miles apart Upon that final night Await the obliterating dawn. Two armies The British and the French Entrenched and crouched above Their separated fires Bowed by fear, the driving rain, The downpour welcome To the British high command, But to the other brings despair. Since their superior power Of cannon fire will be absorbed By the sodden ground As they seek to pound The British squares and enfilades Into submission. The vision of those dreadful missiles Which use brave men as skittles Will lose so much Of their rearing, bouncing terror. Now deep furrows shape On Napoleon's brow As he watches the rain again From the flaps of his tent. Should he now withdraw? No, no, there is no time to spare. His enemies gather from all quarters. He must act now and Deal with the Prussians later. The rain may be a curtain But he is certain And has faith in his future.