Writ in Barracks by Edgar Wallace
A tent that is pitched at the base:
A wagon that comes from the night:
A stretcher—and on it a Case:
A surgeon, who’s holding a light.
The Infantry’s bearing the brunt—
O hark to the wind-carried cheer!
A mutter of guns at the front:
A whimper of sobs at the rear.
And it’s War! ‘Orderly, hold the light.
You can lay him down on the table: so.
Easily—gently! Thanks—you may go.’
And it’s War! but the part that is not for show.
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