Crazy, who, from collapsing, gets up for new advance, <br />and moves in stumbling torture the limbs to get his chance, <br />and still is heading forward as if with wings he'd fly, <br />in vain the trench is calling, he does not dare to die. <br />He'd answer to your question, what for this strain's to stand, <br />that there's a dear wife waiting, and perhaps a wiser end. <br />Yet this good guy's quite crazy, through his old home behind <br />since long the winds are blowing, from blaze and ashes blind. <br />The back wall fell to pieces, the plum tree's broken down, <br />and gotten rough from scaring those nights so sweet at home. <br />Oh, couldn't I believe yet - not kept in heart alone - <br />that there is still a homeland, so dear for me to roam; <br />if there were still the old porch, and sitting in the sun, <br />and peaceful bees were humming while cools the jelly plum, <br />the ending summer dozing o'er the garden's dreamy flair, <br />and midst green foliage swaying the fruit so firm and bare, <br />and Fanni stands there waiting, blonde, the hawthorn hedge aside, <br />and shadows written slowly by a slow late morning's light. - <br />Could all this still come true yet! The moon's so round today! <br />Don't stride ahead, my comrade, shout at me - I can't stay!<br /><br />Miklos Radnoti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forced-march/
