killed - Популярные cтихи, рассказы и фанфики

When I’m killed, don’t think of
Buried there in Cambrin Wood,
Nor as in Zion think of
With the Intolerable Good

Desire
All the sweet pulsing
And gentle
That were you,

Had he and I but met    By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet    Right many a nipperkin
But ranged as infantry,    And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,    And killed him in his place

There are tears and wails in the old brown
On the hillside steep today,
Though the sunlight gleams on the outer
There the clouds drift cold and gray