Disabled - by Wilfred Owen
A lonely man is sitting in his wheel-chair thinking about his life before the war....
He thinks about how the town used to be a happy place at dusk....
He thinks about how his life was ruined in a far away war....
"He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark, And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey"
He thinks about the reasons he decided to enlist....
"About this time Town used to swing so gay When glow-lamps budded in the ligh-blue trees"
He thinks about how he felt on the day he signed up....
"He's lost his colour very far from here, Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry"
He feels lonely and abandoned in his pathetic state....
"After the matches carried shoulder high.... He thougt he'd better join. He wonders why..."
"Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years... he was drafted out with drums and cheers."
"Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,... And take whatever pity they may dole.... Why don't they come And put him into bed?"
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