• Flesch-Kincaid Level: 7
Poetry

Suicide in the Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boyWho grinned at life in empty joy,Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,And whistled early with the lark.In winter trenches, cowed and glum,With crumps and lice and lack of rum,He put a bullet through his brain.No one spoke of him again.You smug-faced crowds with kindl...
  • Flesch-Kincaid Level: 7