Drummed their boots on the camion floor,
Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor.
Lieutenant thought of a Mestre whore --
Warm and soft and sleepy whore,
Cozy, warm and lovely whore;
Damned cold, bitter, rotten ride,
Winding road up the Grappa side.
Arditi on benches stiff and cold,
Pride of their country stiff and cold,
Bristly faces, dirty hides --
Infantry marches, Arditi rides.
Grey, cold, bitter, sullen ride --
To splintered pines on the Grappa side
At Asalone, where the truck-load died.
Back to Ernest Hemingway