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,
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,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
|About the poet|
|By the same poet|
|Does It Matter?|
|Glory of Women|
|The Last Meeting|
|The Poet as Hero|
|To Any Dead Officer|
|Siegfried Sassoon at amazon.co.uk|