| Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land, | |
| Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows. | |
| In the great hour of destiny they stand, | |
| Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. | |
| Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win | 5 |
| Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives. | |
| Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin | |
| They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives. | |
| I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats, | |
| And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain, | 10 |
| Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats, | |
| And mocked by hopeless longing to regain | |
| Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats, | |
| And going to the office in the train. |
Siegfried Sassoon


Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário