A rank and putrid, foul stench,

It runs upon the air,

Coming from this very trench, 

We’ll find young Harry there.

“They’ve done for me ‘arry,” and he laughed as though in joke,

“Me guts all split, me eyes ‘ave gone and me sticks is all been broke.

But it’s worth it all, whot I’ve been through,

Though I’ve got no eyes, tis true,

But even so, I can see right now,

What Kubla saw in Xanadu.”

He smiled then, with his broken face, and settled further down,

He lies there still, in foreign lands, wearing a thorny barbed-wire crown.

Harry laid a hand upon his dearest dead friend’s chest,

His exposed entrails and twisted spine belied a peaceful rest.

A low and pitiful dirge for him Harry did then hum,

“I’ve got some sad news for you, my good and former chum,

Your eyes were broke before they broke and never showed you true,

This, all this, all fucking this, this is Xanadu.”