September 10, 2014 at 10:04PM [via Facebook]
“. . . If in some stumbling dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come the 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 soem desperate glory
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.â€
− Wilfred Owen (1917-1918)*
Anticopyright.