Drummed their boots on the camion floor,
Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor.
Lieutenant thought of a Mestre whore -
Warm and soft and sleepy whore,
Cozy, warm and lovely whore;
Damned cold, bitter, rotten ride,
Winding road up the Grappa side.
Arditi on benches stiff and cold,
Pride of their country stiff and cold,
Bristly faces, dirty hides -
Infantry marches, Arditi rides.
Grey, cold, bitter, sullen ride -
To splintered pines on the Grappa side
At Asalone, where the truck-load died.
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Comments about this poem (Riparto D'Assalto by Ernest Hemingway )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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