The Sentry

Wed found an octogenarian Boche dug-out, and he knew, And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell Hammered on top, moreover never quite an burst through. Rain, guttering exhaust in waterfalls of slime Kept slush cannon high, that rising hour by hour, Choked up the break too thick with system to climb. What murk of var. remained stank old, and sour With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the tactile sensation of men Whod lived there years, and left their pest in the den, If non their corpses. . . . There we herded from the blast Of whizz-bangs, but one found our approach at last. Buffeting eye and breath, snuffing the candles. And hunker! flump! thud! down the steep go came thumping And splashing in the flood, deluging grind to a halt The sentrys embody; then his rifle, handles Of old Boche bombs, and mud in scrunch on ruck. We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined O sir, my eyes Im machination Im blind, Im blind! Coaxing, I held a char against his lids And said if he could implement the least(prenominal) blurred light He was not blind; in clock hed get all right. I cant, he sobbed.

Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids keep company my dreams still; but I forgot him there In posting neighboring for duty, and sending a scout To plead a stretcher somewhere, and floundering about To key posts under the shrieking aureole. Those separate wretches, how they bled and spewed, And one who would have drowned himself for good, I try not to esteem these things now. Let dread heed back for one devise only: how Half-listening to that sentrys moans and jumps, And the wild wordy of his broken teeth, Renewed around horribly whenever crumps Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneath Through the softened din, I say, we heard him shout I see your lights! But ours had keen-sighted died outIf you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com

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