13. In the Pink. Sassoon, Siegfried. 1918. The Old Huntsman and Other Poems

Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967). The Old Huntsman and Other Poems. 1918.

13. In the Pink

SO Davies wrote: ‘This leaves me in the pink’.
Then scrawled his name: ‘Your loving sweetheart, Willie’.
With crosses for a hug. He’d had a drink
Of rum and tea; and, though the barn was chilly,
For once his blood ran warm; he had pay to spend.	5
Winter was passing; soon the year would mend.

But he couldn’t sleep that night; stiff in the dark
He groaned and thought of Sundays at the farm,
And how he’d go as cheerful as a lark
In his best suit, to wander arm in arm	10
With brown-eyed Gwen, and whisper in her ear
The simple, silly things she liked to hear.

And then he thought: to-morrow night we trudge
Up to the trenches, and my boots are rotten.
Five miles of stodgy clay and freezing sludge,	15
And everything but wretchedness forgotten.
To-night he’s in the pink; but soon he’ll die.
And still the war goes on—he don’t know why.