To you who'd read my songs of War
And only hear of blood and fame,
I'll say (you've heard it said before)
'War's Hell! ' and if you doubt the same,
Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood:
Where, propped against a shattered trunk,
In a great mess of things unclean,
Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk
With clothes and face a sodden green,
Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired,
Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.
Boche = German soldier
boche means cabbage head.
Mother truckin' horror. War is real people killing real people. Look into the face of your dead, decaying, bloating enemy. That could just as well be you. This poem pulls the veil back. The moral victory is for those who don't fight and kill.
i dont like you nor do i like ur family
There is no enemy in war. War is the enemy!
Amazing eloquence and emotions. A poignant but apt depiction of the horrors of war.
Hey william, my babesxxx
Songs of war! ! Destroying the earth. Thanks for sharing.