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.