TRENCH RAT
A battered Woodbine is a precious thing.
If you can light the bugger, better still.
Inhale the harsh, uplifting, acrid smoke
and, for a fleeting moment, you’re a King.
Dear old King George can keep his best cigars
and damn Lloyd George,
may that sly bastard choke.
It’s him and and not the Hun I’d choose to kill
to end this bloody war to end all wars.
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