Twelve Months After by Siegfried Sassoon
Hullo! hereâ€™s my platoon, the lot I had last year.
â€˜The warâ€™ll be over soon.â€™
â€˜No bloody fear!â€™
Then, â€˜Number Seven, â€™shun! All present and correct.â€™
Theyâ€™re standing in the sun, impassive and erect.
Young Gibson with his grin; and Morgan, tired and white;
Jordan, whoâ€™s out to win a D.C.M. some night;
And Hughes thatâ€™s keen on wiring; and Davies (â€™79),
Who always must be firing at the Boche front line.
. . . .
â€˜Old soldiers never die; they simply fide a-why!â€™
Thatâ€™s what they used to sing along the roads last spring;
Thatâ€™s what they used to say before the push began;
Thatâ€™s where they are to-day, knocked over to a man.