The Great War

from War Daubs: Poems, an electronic edition

The Corpse

It lay on the hill,

A sack on its face,

Collarless,

Stiff and still,

Its two feet bare

And very white;

Its tunic tossed in sight

And not a button there--

Small trace

Of clothes upon its back--

Thank God ! it had a sack

Upon its face !