He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
Wilfred Owen
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Halted against the shade of a last hill,
It is not death
The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Halted against the shade of a last hill,
It is not death
The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,