Suicide in Trenches

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I knew a simple soldier boyWho grinned at life in empty joy,Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glumWith crumps and lice and lack of rum,He put a bullet through his brain.No one spoke of him again.

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You smug-faced crowds with kindling eyeWho cheer when soldier lads march by,Sneak home and pray you'll never knowThe hell where youth and laughter go.

© Siegfried Sassoon