War
By
Mary Gilmore
Out in the dust he lies;
Flies in his mouth, ants in his eyes ...
I stood at the door where he went out;
Full-grown man, ruddy and stout;
I heard the march of the trampling feet,
Slow and steady come down the street;
The beat of the drum was clods on the
heart,
For all that the regiment looked so smart!
I heard the crackle of hasty cheers
Run like the breaking of unshed tears,
And just for a moment, as he went by,
I had sight of his face, and the flash of
his eye.
He died a hero's death, they said,
When they came to tell me my boy was dead;
But out in the street a dead dog lies;
Flies in his mouth, ants in his eyes.
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