Wilfred Owen
Shropshire / England
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Rating: 3.2
Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After so many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.

There, in the happy no-time of his sleeping,
Death took him by the heart. There heaved a quaking
Of the aborted life within him leaping,
Then chest and sleepy arms once more fell slack.

And soon the slow, stray blood came creeping
From the intruding lead, like ants on track.
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Sir Bobby Charlton 06 March 2020
Well I'm falling 'asleep' reading this
0 2 Reply
Tim Jamie Dim 06 March 2020
Well I'm falling 'asleep'
0 1 Reply
ben tennyson 26 June 2019
me this is good(Owen's on fire 'sing it')
1 3 Reply
matthew lee 12 February 2019
I take wickets for fun
2 5 Reply
Edward Faulkner 12 February 2019
this was a ripper of a poem thanks Will
0 3 Reply
Lena Jackson 10 January 2019
I love this poem I am 11years old
1 3 Reply
pushpadewa 22 December 2018
The poem grew love of motherland this is a nice poem
1 4 Reply
Jayden 19 October 2018
I think it’s a really nice poem I’m also only 11
1 8 Reply
big shaq 02 January 2018
its dreadful listen to mans not hot! ! ! big shaq
9 13 Reply
Emma Barnsley 16 May 2016
I love this poem even though i am a kid only 11. Love Wilfred Owen especially Dulce et decorem est
16 25 Reply

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