Hullo! here’s my platoon, the lot I had last year. <br />‘The war’ll be over soon.’ <br />‘What ’opes?’ <br />‘No bloody fear!’ <br />Then, ‘Number Seven, ’shun! All present and correct.’ <br />They’re standing in the sun, impassive and erect. <br />Young Gibson with his grin; and Morgan, tired and white; <br />Jordan, who’s out to win a D.C.M. some night; <br />And Hughes that’s keen on wiring; and Davies (’79), <br />Who always must be firing at the Boche front line. <br /> <br />. . . . <br />‘Old soldiers never die; they simply fide a-why!’ <br />That’s what they used to sing along the roads last spring; <br />That’s what they used to say before the push began; <br />That’s where they are to-day, knocked over to a man.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twelve-months-after/
