No one cares less than I

Edward Thomas

1878 to 1917

Poem Image
Track 1

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Whether I am destined to lie
Nobody knows but God,
Were the words I made to the bugle call in the morning.
Under a foreign clod,
The call that I heard and made words to early this morning.
No one cares less than I,
Only the bugles know
But laughing, storming, scorning,
And they do not care, when they blow
What the bugles say in the morning,

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