IN THE ARGONNE FOREST
Men there were who walked the miles - hatchets and axes,
guns and barrels. Low smog everywhere hugged the ground -
the mackerel shriek of the dying, the singing of foreign armies.
'Had we a minute, Joe, I'd sneak back to the river-bank for
one more look, but now we're stuck so deep in these woods -
there's no more left to do but go on'. The other grub-mate nodded.
Must'a been Joe, I figured.
It was a like a camera eye somewhere looking down :
some crummy war documentary about some crummy war.
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