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Rouge Bouquet

Rating: 2.8

In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet
There is a new-made grave to-day,
Built by never a spade nor pick
Yet covered with earth ten metres thick.
There lie many fighting men,
   Dead in their youthful prime,
Never to laugh nor love again
   Nor taste the Summertime.
For Death came flying through the air
And stopped his flight at the dugout stair,

Touched his prey and left them there,
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7/29/2021 8:10:39 PM # 1.0.0.666