I was going to end the War Poetry cycle yesterday, but have received so many messages asking why I didn't mention Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967). So I have decided today to give you one of his most poignant little poems, without any comment. Suicide In The Trenches speaks for itself.
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
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