We are going back again
To the mud and the rain
Where the guns complain
And the stones stain.
We are leaving the mountain snow.
Once more it is our turn to go
Back to the advanced foe.
It is just we know . . .
We are going back again
To our comrades' graves on the plain,
To the graves sunk in the rain
We do not complain.
We do not complain.
We say nothing: but think only
(Heart-constricted, a moment lonely):
"Who will be killed this time
And for what crime?"
-John Gawsworth
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