To you who’d read my songs of War <br />And only hear of blood and fame, <br />I’ll say (you’ve heard it said before) <br />”War’s Hell!” and if you doubt the same, <br />Today I found in Mametz Wood <br />A certain cure for lust of blood: <br /> <br />Where, propped against a shattered trunk, <br />In a great mess of things unclean, <br />Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk <br />With clothes and face a sodden green, <br />Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired, <br />Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dead-boche/
