When we fought campaigns (in the long Christmas rains) <br />With soldiers spread in troops on the floor, <br />I shot as straight as you, my losses were as few, <br />My victories as many, or more. <br />And when in naval battle, amid cannon's rattle, <br />Fleet met fleet in the bath, <br />My cruisers were as trim, my battleships as grim, <br />My submarines cut as swift a path. <br />Or, when it rained too long, and the strength of the strong <br />Surged up and broke a way with blows, <br />I was as fit and keen, my fists hit as clean, <br />Your black eye matched my bleeding nose. <br />Was there a scrap or ploy in which you, the boy, <br />Could better me? You could not climb higher, <br />Ride straighter, run as quick (and to smoke made you sick) <br />. . . But I sit here, and you're under fire. <br /> <br />Oh, it's you that have the luck, out there in blood and muck: <br />You were born beneath a kindly star; <br /> <br />All we dreamt, I and you, you can really go and do, <br />And I can't, the way things are. <br />In a trench you are sitting, while I am knitting <br />A hopeless sock that never gets done. <br />Well, here's luck, my dear;--and you've got it, no fear; <br />But for me . . . a war is poor fun.<br /><br />Rose Macaulay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/many-sisters-to-many-brothers/
