Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land, <br />Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows. <br />In the great hour of destiny they stand, <br />Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. <br />Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win <br />Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives. <br />Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin <br />They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives. <br /> <br />I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats, <br />And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain, <br />Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats, <br />And mocked by hopeless longing to regain <br />Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats, <br />And going to the office in the train.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dreamers/
