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Wednesday, 26 September 2018

Poem - Mary Gilmore


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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