A Dead Boche

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.

by Robert Graves

Comments (7)

Mother truckin' horror. War is real people killing real people. Look into the face of your dead, decaying, bloating enemy. That could just as well be you. This poem pulls the veil back. The moral victory is for those who don't fight and kill.
Songs of war! ! Destroying the earth. Thanks for sharing.
This poem brings to fore the horrors of war that makes an appeal to end all kinds of bloodshed and indiscriminate killing of people anywhere in the world. Thanks, Robert.
a sad depiction poem of the demise of a human being.
A certain cure.... thanks for sharing....
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