Siegfried Sasson
Siegfried Sasson
| Groping along the tunnel, step by step, |
| He winked his prying torch with patching glare |
| From side to side, and sniffed the unwholesome air |
| Tins, boxes, bottles, shapes too vague to know; |
| A mirror smashed, the mattress from a bed; |
| And he, exploring fifty feet below |
| The rosy gloom of battle overhead. |
| Tripping, he grabbed the wall; saw some one lie |
| Humped at his feet, half-hidden by a rug, |
| And stooped to give the sleeper's arm a tug. |
| 'I'm looking for headquarters.' No reply. |
| 'God blast your neck!' (For days he'd had no sleep,) |
| 'Get up and guide me through this stinking place.' |
| Savage, he kicked a soft, unanswering heap, |
| And flashed his beam across the livid face |
| Terribly glaring up, whose eyes yet wore |
| Agony dying hard ten days before; |
| And fists of fingers clutched a blackening wound. |
| Alone he staggered on until he found |
| Dawn's ghost that filtered down a shafted stair |
| To the dazed, muttering creatures underground |
| Who hear the boom of shells in muffled sound |
| At last, with sweat of horror in his hair, |
| He climbed through darkness to the twilight air, |
| Unloading hell behind him step by step. |
Lest we forget
Lest we forget
