Wilfred Owen (1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)
So the church Christ was hit and buried
Under its rubbish and its rubble.
In cellars, packed-up saints long serried,
Well out of hearing of our trouble.
One Virgin still immaculate
Smiles on for war to flatter her.
She's halo'd with an old tin hat,
But a piece of hell will batter her.
Comments about this poem (Le Christianisme by Wilfred Owen )
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