The morning battlefield lay still and grey,
Its silence broken grimly by the groans
Of wounded, broken, bleeding, dying men.
Then gently, slowly, through that desolate scene
Came an Angel all dress'd in nurses' kit;
She wandered, lovely as a cloud, starched in white,
Giving head unto the maimed and crippled.
"Me, me" a legless soldier feebly called,
More in hope than serious expectation.
What a silly **** he was.