As I went up by Ovillers <br />In mud and water cold to the knee, <br />There went three jeering, fleeing spectres, <br />That walked abreast and talked of me. <br /> <br />The first said, 'Here's a right brave soldier <br />That walks the dark unfearingly; <br />Soon he'll come back on a fine stretcher, <br />And laughing for a nice Blighty.' <br /> <br />The second, 'Read his face, old comrade, <br />No kind of lucky chance I see; <br />One day he'll freeze in mud to the marrow, <br />Then look his last on Picardie.' <br /> <br />Though bitter the word of these first twain <br />Curses the third spat venomously; <br />'He'll stay untouched till the war's last dawning <br />Then live one hour of agony.' <br /> <br />Liars the first two were. Behold me <br />At sloping arms by one - two - three; <br />Waiting the time I shall discover <br />Whether the third spake verity.<br /><br />Ivor Gurney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballad-of-the-three-spectres/
