His wet white face and miserable eyes
Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:
But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell
His troubled voice: he did the business well.
The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining
And calling out for Dickie. Curse the Wood!
Its time to go. O Christ, and whats the good?
Well never take it, and its always raining.
I wondered where hed been; then heard him shout,
They snipe like hell! O Dickie, dont go out...
I fell asleep ... Next morning he was dead;
And some Slight Wound lay smiling on the bed.
