A Dead Boche
1895.7.24-1985.12.7
To you who'd read my songs of War
And only hear of blood and fame,
I'll say (you've heard it said before)
"War's Hell!" and if you doubt the same,
Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood:
Where, propped against a shattered trunk,
In a great mess of things unclean,
Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk
With clothes and face a sodden green,
Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired,
Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.
DayPoems Poem No. 2728
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/2728.html">A Dead Boche by Robert Graves</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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