And you’re the chap who writes this claptrap verse!
Lord, if I’d half your brains, I’d write a book:
None of your sentimental platitudes,
But something real, vital; that should strip
The glamour from this outrage we call war,
Shewing it naked, hideous, stupid, vile—
One vast abomination. So that they
Who, coming after, till the ransomed fields
Where our lean corpses rotted in the ooze,
Reading my written words, should understand