A Dead Boche Poem by Robert Graves
A Dead Boche
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.
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.
Songs of war! ! Destroying the earth. Thanks for sharing.
Amazing eloquence and emotions. A poignant but apt depiction of the horrors of war.
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12/2/2024 10:08:41 PM # 1.0.0
Boche = German soldier
boche means cabbage head.