188 RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL
There are pain-crazed animals a-shrieking there And a warm blood stench that is a-reeking there ;
He fights like a rat in a corner —
Billy, the Soldier Boy !
There he lies now, like a ghoulish score of him,
Left on the field for dead : The ground all around is smeared with the gore of him —
Even the leaves are red. The Thing that was Billy lies a-dying there, Writhing and a-twisting and a-crying there;
A sickening sun grins down on him —
Billy, the Soldier Boy !
Still not quite clear in the poor, wrung heart of him
What the fuss was about. See where he lies — or a ghastly part of him —
While life is oozing out : There are loathsome things he sees a-crawling there ; There are hoarse-voiced crows he hears a-calling there.
Eager for the foul feast spread for them —
BUly, the Soldier Boy !
How much longer, Lord, shall we bear it all f
How many more red years f Story it and glory it and share it all,
In seas of blood and tears f
�� �
