No, I'm not afraid of death, (Not very much afraid, that is) Either for others or myself; Can watch them coming from the line On the wheeled silent stretchers And not shrink, But munch my sandwich stoically And make a joke, when "it" has passed. But-the way they wobble!- God! that makes one sick. Dead men should be so still, austere, And beautiful, Not wobbling carrion roped upon a cart … Well, thank God for rum. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RHINOCEROS by HILAIRE BELLOC O DREAMS, O DESTINATIONS by CECIL DAY LEWIS WHAT THING A BIRD WOULD LOVE by ROBERT FROST THE POET SPEAKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN I AM DEAD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: GOTTLIEB GERALD by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |