and I rose up, and knew that I was tired, and continued my journey

Edward Thomas

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You cannot make chicken salad out of Chicken shit.

Edward Thomas

Mots clés inspirational

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This ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors
Many a frozen night, and merrily
Answered staid drinkers, good bedmen, and all bores:
"At Mrs Greenland's Hawthorn Bush," said he,
"I slept." None knew which bush. Above the town,
Beyond `The Drover', a hundred spot the down
In Wiltshire. And where now at last he sleeps
More sound in France -that, too, he secret keeps.

Edward Thomas

Mots clés poetry war loss death poem a-private

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