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exposure by wilfred owen - the war poetry society كلمات أغنية

our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us . .
wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . .
low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . .
worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous
but nothing happens

watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire
like twitching agonies of men among its brambles
northward, incessantly, the fl!ckering gunnery rumbles
far off, like a dull rumour of some other war
what are we doing here?

the poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . .
we only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy
dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of grey
but nothing happens

sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence
less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow
with sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause, and renew
we watch them wandering up and down the wind’s nonchalance
but nothing happens

pale flakes with fingering stealth come feeling for our faces—
we cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow_dazed
deep into grassier ditches. so we drowse, sun_dozed
littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses
is it that we are dying?
slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing the sunk fires, glozed
with crusted dark_red jewels; crickets jingle there;
for hours the innocent mice rejoice: the house is theirs;
shutters and doors, all closed: on us the doors are closed,—
we turn back to our dying

since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
now ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit
for god’s invincible spring our love is made afraid;
therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born
for love of god seems dying

to_night, this frost will fasten on this mud and us
shrivelling many hands, and puckering foreheads crisp
the burying_party, picks and shovels in shaking grasp
pause over half_known faces. all their eyes are ice
but nothing happens

- exposure by wilfred owen

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