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(GREAT WAR)
 
Squire nagged and bullied until I went to fight,
(Under Lord Derby's Scheme). I died in hell –
(They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight,
And I was hobbling back; and then a shell
Burst slick upon the duckboards : so I fell
Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light.
 
At sermon-time while Squire is in his pew,
He gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare;
For,though low down upon the list,I'm there;
In proud and glorious memory ... that's my due.
Two bleeding years I fought in France, for Squire:
I suffered anguish that he never guessed.
Once I came home on leave: and then went west ...
What greater glory could a man desire?
 
Siegfried Sassoon