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The Hall of the Fallen

Updated: Mar 13

"Tickler's Jam" lipped mouths barked

into the silence of the yellow air to hope

we wouldn't falter our lives.


The dirt,

muddy dead rats and

broken legs--


We weren't worth the bulk

of the death toll,


and set ourselves in joy,

hoping for Valhalla.


When the air came the second year,

and the blossoms weren't there to bloom this time,

I thought back to the year before,

Before I'd committed so many crimes.


But in the ground now I saw a bud,

and blossomed from it only mud,

but at least, in the sun, this mud-flower

gleamed.



Paul Nash, Springtime in the Trenches

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