GOD with a Roll of Honour in His hand <br />Sits welcoming the heroes who have died, <br />While sorrowless angels ranked on either side <br />Stand easy in Elysium’s meadow-land. <br />Then you come shyly through the garden gate, <br />Wearing a blood-soaked bandage on your head; <br />And God says something kind because you’re dead, <br />And homesick, discontented with your fate. <br /> <br />If I were there we’d snowball Death with skulls; <br />Or ride away to hunt in Devil’s Wood <br />With ghosts of puppies that we walked of old. <br />But you’re alone; and solitude annuls <br />Our earthly jokes; and strangely wise and good <br />You roam forlorn along the streets of gold.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-investiture/
