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Siegfried Sassoon - The Road
Work rating: Low

The Road is thronged with women; soldiers pass   
And halt, but never see them; yet they’re here—   
A patient crowd along the sodden grass,   
Silent, worn out with waiting, sick with fear.   
The Road goes crawling up a long hillside,
All ruts and stones and sludge, and the emptied dregs   
Of battle thrown in heaps; here where they died   
Are stretched big-bellied horses with stiff legs,   
And dead men, bloody-fingered from the fight,   
Stare up at cavern`d darkness winking white.
   
You in the bomb-scorched kilt, poor sprawling Jock,   
You tottered here and fell, and stumbled on,   
Half-dazed for want of sleep: no dream would mock   
Your reeling brain with comforts lost and gone.   
You did not feel her arms about your knees,
Her blind caress, her lips upon your head:   
Too tired for thoughts of home and love and ease,   
The Road would serve you well enough for bed.
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