THE SLEEPERS
A battered roof where stars went tripping
With silver feet,
A broken roof whence rain came dripping,
Yet rest was sweet.
A dug-out where the rats ran squeaking
Under the ground,
And out in front the poor dead reeking!
Yet sleep was sound.
No longer house or dug-out keeping,
Within a cell
Of brown and bloody earth they’re sleeping;
Oh they sleep well.
Thrice blessed sleep, the balm of sorrow!
Thrice blessed eyes
Sealed up till on some doomsday morrow
The sun arise!