ATROCITIES
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ou told me, in your drunken-boasting mood,How once you butchered prisoners. That was good!I'm sure you felt no pity while they stoodPatient and cowed and scared, as prisoners should. How did you do them in? Come, don't be shy:You know I love to hear how Germans die,Downstairs in dug-outs. "Camerad!" they cry;Then squeal like stoats when bombs begin to fly.* * * * *And you? I know your record. You went sickWhen orders looked unwholesome: then, with trickAnd lie, you wangled home. And here you are,Still talking big and boozing in a bar.
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