His wet white face and miserable eyes <br />Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs: <br />But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell <br />His troubled voice: he did the business well. <br /> <br />The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining <br />And calling out for ‘Dickie’. ‘Curse the Wood! <br />‘It’s time to go. O Christ, and what’s the good? <br />‘We’ll never take it, and it’s always raining.’ <br /> <br />I wondered where he’d been; then heard him shout, <br />‘They snipe like hell! O Dickie, don’t go out... <br />I fell asleep ... Next morning he was dead; <br />And some Slight Wound lay smiling on the bed.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/died-of-wounds/
