With steady, silent tread
Bearing aloft their dead --
One at the foot, one at the head
The stretcher-bearers go;
Out of the dark they come
Stumbling and staggering, some
Bearing, maybe, a chum,
Pair after pair they go.
Vague, silhouetted ghosts,
Remnants of martyr'd hosts;
Think on the blatant toasts
Raised to "King Glory"!
Tread lightly, that's the way,
Wake not the dead, lest they
Have other words to say
Of the same story!
-- D. Howard Tripp.
(Lance-Corporal, London Irish Rifles, British Expeditionary Force.)
