It Matters Not Who Won Or Lost

Limbs splintered and guts splattered; screaming done
At last, he saw a fine old man appear,
Who said: Well done, my lad! be of good cheer!
You've rescued Belgium and you've kicked the Hun.
Your mother, rest assured, we shall not shun.
This venture could run on another year;
She'll do her part and like it, have no fear.
Her grief we'll use, her tears the Press will run.

For ever now a part of foreign field,
Hard-working beast of burden, meat well sold,
Rest easy that you fought and did not yield
Except to some few fibs that you were told.
Fear not, my son; your sacrifice and pain
Will profit us; they have not been in vain.

Manly Britton