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I snatched two poppies
From the parapet’s ledge,
Two bright red poppies
That winked on the ledge.
Behind my ear
I stuck one through,
One blood red poppy
I gave to you.
The sandbags narrowed
And screwed out our jest,
And tore the poppy
You had on your breast ...
Down - a shell - O! Christ,
I am choked ... safe ... dust blind, I
See trench floor poppies
Strewn. Smashed you lie.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
Comments
Also, I love this self-portrait, which shows how he saw himself - in stark contrast to the (also beautiful) photograph of him in uniform, obviously taken when he was already in a terrible state.
When you read this poem, don't you feel as if he's giving a poppy to you?