[NicknamedBob]

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
- The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen

Owen, Wilfred, 1893-1918, English poet. Owen, who died on the French front in World War I,
wrote of the horror and pity of war in verse that transfigured traditional meter and diction.

Siegfried SASSOON published 24 of Owen's poems posthumously (1920).

The astute observer may note a small similarity of style and subject from this poem to the one I posted above. Call it inspiration. I especially love "...each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds..." --Ach. I can feel it!

[Tax-chick]

"If I were short, and bald, and short of breath,
I'd live with scarlet Majors at the base,
And speed doomed heroes up the line to death."