Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down You'd treat if met where any bar is, Or help to half-a-crown.

Here by the baring bough Raking up leaves, Often I ponder how Springtime deceives,- I, an old woman now, Raking up leaves.

We two kept house, the Past and I, The Past and I; I tended while it hovered nigh, Leaving me never alone.

The Earth, say'st thou? The Human race? By Me created? Sad its lot? Nay: I have no remembrance of such place: Such world I fashioned not.

As soon as the war ended, we located the one spot on earth that hadn't been touched by the war and blew it to hell.

They've got us surrounded again, the poor bastards.

I rarely saw them as individuals. It was always a huge mass...they were naked, packed together, running, being driven with whips.