Their rugs are sodden, their heads are down, their tails are turned to the storm;
(Would you know them, you that groomed them in the sleek fat days of peace,
When the tiles rang to their pawings in the lighted stalls, and warm,
Now the foul clay cakes on breeching strap and clogs the quick-release ?)
The blown rain stings, there is never a star, the tracks are rivers of slime:
(You must harness-up by guesswork with a failing torch for light,
Instep-deep in unmade standings; for it’s active-service time,
And our resting weeks are over, and we move the guns to-night.)
The iron tyres slither, the traces sag, their blind hooves stumble and slide;
They are war-worn, they are weary, soaked with sweat and sopped with rain:
(You must hold them, you must help them, swing your lead and centre wide
Where the greasy granite pave peters out to squelching drain.)
There is shrapnel bursting a mile in front on the road that the guns must take:
(You are thoughtful, you are nervous, you are shifting in your seat,
As you watch the ragged feathers flicker orange, flame and break):
But the teams are pulling steady down the battered village street.
You have shod them cold, and their coats are long, and their bellies stiff with the mud;
They have done with gloss and polish, but the fighting heart’s unbroke . . .
We, who saw them hobbling after us down white roads flecked with blood,
Patient, wondering why we left them, till we lost them in the smoke;
Who have felt them shiver between our knees, when the shells rain black from the skies,
When the bursting terrors find us and the lines stampede as one ;
Who have watched the pierced limbs quiver and the pain in stricken eyes;
Know the worth of humble servants, foolish-faithful to their gun.
(Gilbert Frankau)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, Time Poems, War & Peace Poems, Pain Poems, Medicine & Medical Poems, Humility Poems, Failure PoemsBased on Keywords: hobbling, war-worn, slither, unbroke, peters, groomed, tyres, sopped, squelching, guesswork, breeching