Leonard Ernest Scott's poetry

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At last he’s free of weaponry.
One Lee-Enfield three-o-three
One respirator, good as new,
gas-cape, ground sheet too.
All back to store. Await next war?

He draws his last day’s pay.
Salutes.  Farewell to all.
Walks away on boots
half a size too small.

‘Oh tell me soldier bold,
so modestly controlled.
I yearn to learn your battle-skill
How did it feel to kill?’

‘Lady I would make no sound.
Wake no-one. Move around.
Shed no blood. Leave no mark
when shaving in the dark’.

Rome, 1 December 1945