Wilfred Owen, selected poems Contents
- Author(s)
- 1914
- Anthem for Doomed Youth
- At a Calvary near the Ancre
- Disabled
- Dulce et Decorum Est
- Exposure
- Futility
- Greater Love
- Hospital Barge
- Insensibility
- Inspection
- Le Christianisme
- Mental Cases
- Miners
- S.I.W.
- Soldier's Dream
- Sonnet On Seeing a Piece of Our Heavy Artillery Brought into Action
- Spring Offensive
- Strange Meeting
- The Dead-Beat
- The Last Laugh
- The Letter
- The Parable of the Old Man and the Young
- The Send-Off
- The Sentry
- Wild with All Regrets
The Letter
With B.E.F. June 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. (5)
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! (10)
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 rest now. Never fear.
(VRACH! By crumbs, but that was near.) (15)
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. (20)
No, damn your iodine. Jim? 'Ere!
Write my old girl, Jim, there's a dear.)
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