I shot him, and it had to be <br />One of us 'Twas him or me. <br />'Couln't be helped' and none can blame <br />Me, for you would do the same <br /> <br />My mother, she cant sleep for fear <br />Of what might be a-happening here <br />To me. Perhaps it might be best <br />To die, and set her fears at rest <br /> <br />For worst is worst, and worry's done. <br />Perhaps he was the only son. . . <br />Yet God keeps still, and does not say <br />A word of guidance anyway. <br /> <br />Well, if they get me, first I'll find <br />That boy, and tell him all my mind, <br />And see who felt the bullet worst, <br />And ask his pardon,if I durst. <br /> <br />All's a tangle. Here's my job. <br />A man might rave, or shout, or sob; <br />And God He takes takes no sort of heed. <br />This is a bloody mess indeed.<br /><br />Ivor Gurney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-target/
