The other one was dead.They took his gunAnd letters spillingfrom his pockets, theseThe two remembered;then ploughed onto findThe next tank, and thenext, where other menLay trapped and helplesswhispering in the dark.
        Now we retreat in betterorder, confidentOf gun on shoulder, captainin commandThe wounded swing in swiftmade hammocks safeFrom a long guttering deathwithin a tank