Bent double like old beggars in sacks Knockkneed and cursing or coughing like hags Men marched on sleeping Some without boots Fatigue drunken deaf still to the hoots Of breaking Gas shells Dropping softly behind But limped on bloodshod All went Lame all went blind Gas gas quick boys fumbling helmets in time Someone still screaming a man in fire or lime Under a grey cloud dim Dark through green light In all my dreaming before my helpless sight He plunges at me Choking guttering drowning Put in a wagon he had to Keep pace As his eyes melt to his face If you could hear blood
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