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Poem by Wilfred Owen
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Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawn Open a jagged rim around; a yawn Of death's jaws, which had all but swallowed them Stuck in the bottom of his throat of phlegm. They were in one of many mouths of Hell Not seen of seers in visions, only felt As teeth of traps; when bones and the dead are smelt Under the mud where long ago they fell Mixed with the sour sharp odour of the shell.
Wilfred Owen's other poems:
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