This day, this night, should be familiar to you,
These sounds, these faces, this red mud and glare;
Again is served, upon the board that knew you,
The ugly feast at which you took your share.
The skeletons at ease beneath the crosses
Are unconcerned with diving Messerschmitts,
Impervious to estimated losses
And unambitious of directer hits.
You, safe as they, ignore delirium;
This time your lips escape the bitter ration,
And the sick stumbling men whose lips are dumb
Go scatheless from your terrible compassion.
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