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THE DUG-OUT |
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Deeper than the daisies in the rubble and the loam, Wayward as a river the winding trenches roam, Past bowed, decrepit dug-outs leaning on their props, Beyond the shattered village where the lightest limber stops;
Through fields untilled and barren, and ripped
by shot and shell,—
The bloodstained braes of Souchez, the
meadows of Vermelles, 106 |
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