Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, "Between the Lines"

Between the Lines When consciousness came back, he found he layBetween the opposing fires, but could not tellOn which hand were his friends; and either wayFor him to turn was chancy–bullet and shellWhistling and shrieking over him, as the glareOf searchlights scoured the darkness to blind day.He scrambled to his hands and knees ascare,Dragging his […]

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, "Retreat"

Retreat Broken, bewildered by the long retreat Across the stifling leagues of southern plain, Across the scorching leagues of trampled grain, Half-stunned, half-blinded, by the trudge of feet And dusty smother of the AugustHe dreamt of flowers in an English lane, Of hedgerow flowers glistening after rain– All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet. All-heal and willow-herb […]

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, "In the Ambulance"

In the Ambulance “Two rows of cabbages, Two of curly-greens, Two rows of early peas, Two of kidney-beans.” That’s what he is muttering Making such a song, Keeping other chaps awake, The whole night long. Both his legs are shot away, And his head is light;So he keeps on muttering All the blessed night: “Two […]

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, "The Messages"

The Messages “I cannot quite remember…. There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench–and three Whispered their dying messages to me….” Back from the trenches, more dead than alive, Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a broken knee, He hobbled slowly, muttering vacantly: “I cannot quite remember…. There were five Dropt dead beside me […]