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Wilfred Owen - The Letter
Work rating: Low

With B.E.F. Jun 10. Dear Wife,
(Oh blast this pencil. `Ere, Bill, lend`s a knife.)
I`m in the pink at present, dear.
I think the war will end this year.
We don`t see much of them square-`eaded `Uns.
We`re out of harm`s way, not bad fed.
I`m longing for a taste of your old buns.
(Say, Jimmie, spare`s a bite of bread.)
There don`t seem much to say just now.
(Yer what? Then don`t, yer ruddy cow!
And give us back me cigarette!)
I`ll soon be `ome. You mustn`t fret.
My feet`s improvin`, as I told you of.
We`re out in the rest now. Never fear.
(VRACH! By crumbs, but that was near.)
Mother might spare you half a sov.
Kiss Nell and Bert. When me and you-
(Eh? What the `ell! Stand to? Stand to!
Jim, give`s a hand with pack on, lad.
Guh! Christ! I`m hit. Take `old. Aye, bad.
No, damn your iodine. Jim? `Ere!
Write my old girl, Jim, there`s a dear.)
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