In An Underground Dressing Station
Quietly they set their burden down: he tried
To grin; moaned; moved his head from side to side.
He gripped the stretcher; stiffened; glared; and screamed,
'O put my leg down, doctor, do!' (He'd got
A bullet in his ankle; and he'd been shot
Horribly through the guts.) The surgeon seemed
So kind and gentle, saying, above that crying,
'You
must
keep still, my lad.' But he was dying.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
Added by Poetry Lover
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