Grotesque and queerly huddled <br />Contortionists to twist <br />The sleepy soul to a sleep, <br />We lie all sorts of ways <br />And cannot sleep. <br />The wet wind is so cold, <br />And the lurching men so careless, <br />That, should you drop to a doze, <br />Winds' fumble or men's feet <br />Are on your face.<br /><br />Isaac Rosenberg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-troop-ship/
