And now the gradient runs more flatly towards the separate scarred saplings where they make fringe for the inner thicket, and you take notice/There between the thinning uprights at the margin,/ straggle tangled oak and flayed sheeny beech-bole,/ and fragile birch whose silvery queenery is draggled and ungraced/ and June shoots lopt and fresh stalks bled,/ runs the Jerry trench.
The face of Mametz Wood, Somme, extract from 'In Parenthesis', by David Jones
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