Next year the grave grass will cover us. We stand now, and laugh; Watching the girls go by; Betting on slow horses; drinking cheap gin. We have nothing to do; nowhere to go; nobody. Last year was a year ago; nothing more. We weren't younger then; nor older now. We manage to have the look the young men have; We feel nothing behind our faces, one way or other. We shall probably not be quite dead when we die. We were never anything all the way; not even soldiers. We are the insulted, brother, the desolate boys. Sleepwalkers in a dark and terrible land, Where solitude is a dirty knife at out throats. Cold stars watch us, chum Cold stars and the whores. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS SURCEASE by ALICE GARDNER ADAMS SONNET: HER WORST AND BEST by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON ECHOES OF SPRING: 6 by MATHILDE BLIND AT THE FIREMEN'S EXHIBITION by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB POETS AND POETS by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: FUST AND FRIENDS by ROBERT BROWNING |