He thought of getting back by half-past twelve, And tot of rum to send him warm to sleep In draughty dug-out frowsty with the fumes Of coke, and full of snoring, weary men.
He pushed another bag along the top, Craning his body outward; then a flare Gave one white glimpse of No Man's Land and wire; And as he dropped his head the instant split His startled life with lead, and all went out.
I'd been on duty from two till four. I went and stared at the dug-out door. Down in the frowst I heard them snore. "Stand-to!" Somebody grunted and swore. Dawn was misty; the skies were still; Larks were singing, discordant, shrill; _They_ seemed happy; but _I_ felt ill. Deep in water I splashed my way Up the trench to our bogged front line. Rain had fallen the whole damned night. O Jesus, send me a wound to-day, And I'll believe in Your bread and wine, And get my bloody old sins washed white!
So Davies wrote: "This leaves me in the pink." Then scrawled his name: "Your loving sweetheart, Willie." With crosses for a hug. He'd had a drink Of rum and tea; and, though the barn was chilly, For once his blood ran warm; he had pay to spend. Winter was passing; soon the year would mend.
He couldn't sleep that night. Stiff in the dark He groaned and thought of Sundays at the farm, When he'd go out as cheerful as a lark In his best suit to wander arm-in-arm With brown-eyed Gwen, and whisper in her ear The simple, silly things she liked to hear.
And then he thought: to-morrow night we trudge Up to the trenches, and my boots are rotten. Five miles of stodgy clay and freezing sludge, And everything but wretchedness forgotten. To-night he's in the pink; but soon he'll die. And still the war goes on; _he_ don't know why.
"Jack fell as he'd have wished," the Mother said, And folded up the letter that she'd read. "The Colonel writes so nicely." Something broke In the tired voice that quavered to a choke. She half looked up. "We mothers are so proud Of our dead soldiers." Then her face was bowed.
Quietly the Brother Officer went out. He'd told the poor old dear some gallant lies That she would nourish all her days, no doubt. For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy, Because he'd been so brave, her glorious boy.