Dulce et Decorum Est

[elleng]

WILFRED OWEN

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est

Pro patria mori.

http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html

[Warpy]

1. And those ardent children, if they survive

will never be able to tell you what any war was really about.

But the rich get richer every single time.