Enemies

He stood alone in some queer sunless place Where Armageddon ends. Perhaps he longed For days he might have lived; but his young face Gazed forth untroubled: and suddenly there thronged Round him the hulking Germans that I shot When for his death my brooding rage was hot. He stared at them, half-wondering; and then They told him how I’d killed them for his sake— Those patient, stupid, sullen ghosts of men; And still there seemed no answer he could make. At last he turned and smiled. One took his hand Because his face could make them understand.