|
I KNEW a simple soldier boy
|
|
|
Who grinned at life in empty
joy,
|
|
|
Slept soundly through the
lonesome dark,
|
|
|
And whistled early with the
lark.
|
|
|
|
|
|
In winter trenches, cowed and
glum,
|
5
|
|
With crumps
and lice and lack of rum,
|
|
|
He put a bullet through his
brain.
|
|
|
No one spoke of him again.
. . . .
|
|
|
You smug-faced crowds with
kindling eye
|
|
|
Who cheer when soldier lads
march by,
|
10
|
|
Sneak home and pray you’ll never
know
|
|
|
The hell where youth and
laughter go.
|
|