Soldier, are you afraid of the things to come?
Do you dream of the dawn-and the cold sea's heave—
And the guns' blaze and the bullets' hum—
Do you dream and tremble, and grieve?'
'I dunno, Mum,
It can't be much worse, Mum,
Than standing packed in a corridor. Mum,
Seven hours, Mum—
Coming back from leave.'
April 9, 1944
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem