Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit, <br />He flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows <br />Each flash and spouting crash,--each instant lit <br />When gloom reveals the streaming rain. He goes <br />Heavily, blindly on. And, while he blunders, <br />"Could anything be worse than this?"--he wonders, <br />Remembering how he saw those Germans run, <br />Screaming for mercy among the stumps of trees: <br />Green-faced, they dodged and darted: there was one <br />Livid with terror, clutching at his knees. . . <br />Our chaps were sticking 'em like pigs . . . "O hell!" <br />He thought--"there's things in war one dare not tell <br />Poor father sitting safe at home, who reads <br />Of dying heroes and their deathless deeds."<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/remorse-2/
