I mind as ’ow the night afore that show
Us five got talking, — we was in the know,
“Over the top to-morrer; boys, we’re for it,
First wave we are, first ruddy wave; that's tore it.”
“Ah well,” says Jimmy, — an’ ’e’s seen some scrappin’ —
“There ain't more nor five things as can ’appen;
Ye get knocked out; else wounded — bad or cushy;
Scuppered; or nowt except yer feeling mushy.”
One of us got the knock-out, blown to chops.
T’other was hurt, like, losin’ both ’is props.
An’ one, to use the word of ’ypocrites,
’Ad the misfortoon to be took by Fritz.
Now me, I wasn’t scratched, praise God Almighty
(Though next time please I’ll thank ’im for a blighty),
But poor young Jim, ’e’s livin’ an’ ’e’s not;
’E reckoned ’e’d five chances, an’ ’e’s ’ad;
’E’s wounded, killed, and pris’ner, all the lot —
The ruddy lot all rolled in one. Jim’s mad.
|About the poet|
|By the same poet|
|Apologia pro Poemate Meo|
|The Parable of the Old Man and the Young|
|Arms and the Boy|
|Anthem for Doomed Youth|
|Dulce et Decorum est|
|S. I. W.|
|Smile, Smile, Smile|
|Wild with all Regrets|
|Wilfred Owen at amazon.co.uk|