Enough of the blame game.
Suicide In The Trenches, by Sigfried Sassoon
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet though his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Go home and pray you'll never know
The Hell where youth and laughter go.
Boru
Suicide In The Trenches, by Sigfried Sassoon
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet though his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Go home and pray you'll never know
The Hell where youth and laughter go.
Boru
‘I can’t be having with this.’ - Esmeralda Weatherwax
