Sonnet: Joy in Battle
by JOHN BUXTON
THE joy of battle — that I never knew
(The more’s my loss), unless the joy should lie
In the curled, waiting finger, and watchful eye
Sifting each distant movement through and through.
But when that crawling shape came into view
Over the steady sights, what joy had I
To see it jerk, fling out an arm, and die?
What joy in such an easy thing to do?
Death I accept as man — who does not so?
And killing I accept at England’s need.
I am not I alone in war, but know
Myself as citizen. But none shall read
Of joy in battle in my verse and throw
That camouflage on men who lie and bleed.
(The more’s my loss), unless the joy should lie
In the curled, waiting finger, and watchful eye
Sifting each distant movement through and through.
But when that crawling shape came into view
Over the steady sights, what joy had I
To see it jerk, fling out an arm, and die?
What joy in such an easy thing to do?
Death I accept as man — who does not so?
And killing I accept at England’s need.
I am not I alone in war, but know
Myself as citizen. But none shall read
Of joy in battle in my verse and throw
That camouflage on men who lie and bleed.
OFLAG VI B
August 19, 1942