Giving thanks to the Italians
For the huts they’d left behind them,
Huts with well-planked walls and ceilings,
Roofed with red tiles from the village,
Fitted out with chairs and tables,
Beds and doors and real glass windows.
Very restful, very soothing,
After the eternal sandbags
And the corrugated iron
Of the dug-outs they’d been used to—