Archive for November 10th, 2013

Sunday, 10 November 2013

The Deserter by Gilbert Frankau

‘I’m sorry I done it, Major.’
We bandaged the livid face;
And led him out, ere the wan sun rose,
To die his death of ignorance.

The bolt-heads locked to the cartridges;
The rifles stead to rest,
As cold stock nestled at colder cheek
And foresight lined on the breast.

‘Fire’ called the Sergeant-Major.
The muzzles flamed as he spoke:
And the shameless soul of a nameless man
Went up in cordite-smoke.


Date: 1918

By: Gilbert Frankau (1884-1952)