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This is a tale of the trenches Told when the shadows creep
Over the bay and traverse And poppies fall asleep.
When the men stand still to their rifles, And the star-shells riot and flare,
Flung from the sandbag alleys, Into the ghostly air.
They see in the growing grasses
That rise from the beaten zone
Their poor unforgotten comrades
Wasting in skin and bone, 70