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Sep 2017
Some poor sod
had it up the line:
his nerves went
or lost his way
in war's battlement,
was charged and shot
against some wall
by other soldiers down
from the Front.

But he'd been quite brave up
until then, boys in half a year
turned into men; bombs, mud,
lice and rats and all around
death in dark colours,
yet he'd seen and shouldered that
and sat and smoked and joked
like the rest- then something
turned him or he lost his way
in noise and shell.

Some poor sod lies
where other bodies lay
waiting silently
to be moved away.

Albert said no more on
that memory of war,
but sat and smoked
and waited for the chime
for dinner as he had before.
Firing squad in ww1
Terry Collett
Written by
Terry Collett  72/M/England
(72/M/England)   
476
       ---, Donna, -DeVille's Poems and ---
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