Here they come broken and bleeding
Young men with the luck of Cain
Held down by the sawbones
I see all their pain
The pickets hope these were Jonahs
As the screams reach each ear
Scared of death they are not
It is this that they fear
Sawbones do as their name suggests
Praying that they won’t fail
Seeing it all each man knows
Beneath me is not top rail
Giving a man as much whiskey as they can
They tell him he’ll be alright
Drunk and brave he slurs out a phrase
“When can I go back and fight?”
Finishing the job they reach in a haversack
And pull out a simple housewife
Patching him up with a homespun bandage
They say "he’ll keep his life".
Young men with the luck of Cain
Held down by the sawbones
I see all their pain
The pickets hope these were Jonahs
As the screams reach each ear
Scared of death they are not
It is this that they fear
Sawbones do as their name suggests
Praying that they won’t fail
Seeing it all each man knows
Beneath me is not top rail
Giving a man as much whiskey as they can
They tell him he’ll be alright
Drunk and brave he slurs out a phrase
“When can I go back and fight?”
Finishing the job they reach in a haversack
And pull out a simple housewife
Patching him up with a homespun bandage
They say "he’ll keep his life".
1 comment:
Again, another very good poem that expresses the choas and blood that was experienced in these tents during the war. Good use of slang as well.
30/30
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