There was a man, - don't mind his name, <br />Whom Fear had dogged by night and day. <br />He could not face the German guns <br />And so he turned and ran away. <br />Just that - he turned and ran away, <br />But who can judge him, you or I ? <br />God makes a man of flesh and blood <br />Who yearns to live and not to die. <br />And this man when he feared to die <br />Was scared as any frightened child, <br />His knees were shaking under him, <br />His breath came fast, his eyes were wild. <br />I've seen a hare with eyes as wild, <br />With throbbing heart and sobbing breath. <br />But oh ! it shames one's soul to see <br />A man in abject fear of death, <br />But fear had gripped him, so had death; <br />His number had gone up that day, <br />They might not heed his frightened eyes, <br />They shot him when the dawn was grey. <br />Blindfolded, when the dawn was grey, <br />He stood there in a place apart, <br />The shots rang out and down he fell, <br />An English bullet in his heart. <br />An English bullet in his heart ! <br />But here's the irony of life, - <br />His mother thinks he fought and fell <br />A hero, foremost in the strife. <br />So she goes proudly; to the strife <br />Her best, her hero son she gave. <br />O well for her she does not know <br />He lies in a deserter's grave.<br /><br />Winifred Mary Letts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-deserter-4/
