Soldiers never do die well;
Crosses mark the places -
Wooden crosses where they fell,
Stuck above their faces.
Soldiers pitch and cough and twitch -
All the world roars red and black;
Soldiers smother in a ditch,
Choking through the whole attack.
Ernest Hemingway's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Champs D'Honneur by Ernest Hemingway )
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