Salute the sappers, all you fighting men;
All you great guns and tanks and lorries, bow!
Bow down, bazooka, bayonet and Bren.
Without the sapper, where would you be now?
The bridge is broken, mines are in the hay.
A thousand deaths are hidden in the grass.
But here's the sapper—he will find a way:
And, you great guns, salute them as they pass.
February 11, 1945
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem