And his men filed out behind him.
Through the gaps they wound like serpents,
Into No Man’s Land they sallied,
Through the din of bursting shrapnel,
Through the bursting high explosives.
Down the steep Patte d’Oie he led them,
Down that steep and rocky gully,
Rocky as a Cornish headland,
Steeper than a traveller’s story:
There the dread trench mortar barrage