The painter of the war
The paint the artist used was blood
To cover up the pain they felt
Because when dried it looked like mud
Of the sodden trench where the soldiers knelt
The artist has a crowed they\'re showing
The gallery throng has come to swoon
At the kind lady ghost of Wilfred Owen
And the scarlet red of his crimson rooms
For blood the artist used their paint
To show the pain they covered up
Because they cried, they cried for saints
Or anyone, anything to interrupt
They cried and cried to make it stop
“Please don’t let me die where I’m sitting”
“Let me die at home, not here where I drop”
This is not sweet and fitting (dulce et decorum est)