I wouldn’t believe them, feeling it must be true.

Next week the bloody Roll of Honour said

“Wounded and missing”—(That’s the thing to do

When lads are left in shell-holes dying slow,

With nothing but blank sky and wounds that ache,

Moaning for water till they know

It’s night, and then it’s not worth while to wake!)

* * * * *

Good-bye, old lad! Remember me to God,

And tell Him that our Politicians swear

They won’t give in till Prussian Rule’s been trod

Under the Heel of England…. Are you there?…

Yes… and the War won’t end for at least two years;

But we’ve got stacks of men… I’m blind with tears,

Staring into the dark. Cheero!

I wish they’d killed you in a decent show.

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