Champs D'Honneur

Ernest Hemingway

 Next Poem          

Soldiers never do die well;
Crosses mark the places --
Wooden crosses where they fell,
Stuck above their faces.
Soldiers pitch and cough and twitch --
All the world roars red and black;
Soldiers smother in a ditch,
Choking through the whole attack.

Next Poem 

 Back to Ernest Hemingway
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry and subscribe to My Poetic Side ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors Weekly news

To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.