Eighth Air Force

If, in an odd angle of the hutment,

A puppy laps the water from a

Of flowers, and the drunk sergeant

Whistles O Paradiso!—shall I say that

Is not as men have said: a wolf to man?

The other murderers troop in yawning;

Three of them play Pitch, one sleeps, and

Lies counting missions, lies there

Till even his heart beats:

One;

One;

One.

O murderers! . . .

Still, this is how it's done:

This is a war . . .

But since these play, before they die,

Like puppies with their puppy; since, a man,

I did as these have done, but did not die—I will content the people as I

And give up these to them:

Behold the man!

I have suffered, in a dream, because of him,

Many things; for this last saviour, man,

I have lied as I lie now.  But what is lying?

Men wash their hands, in blood, as best they can:

I find no fault in this just man.