Bent double, like old beggars under sacks
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through the sludge

Till on the haunting flare we turned our backs
And toward our distant rest began to trudge
Men marched asleep, many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod, all went lame, all blind
Drunk with fatigue, deaf even to the hoots
Of tired outskirted five nines that dropped behind

Gas!GAS! Quick boys!- an ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting their clumsy helmets just in time
But someone was still yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime
Dim through the misty panes of thick green light
As under a sea of green I saw him drowning
In my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me guttering, choking, drowing.

If in some smothering dream you could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face
His hanging face; like a devil's sick of sin
And hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues
my friend you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory
The old lie:
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

-Wilfred Owen

Well yes that if is fact my favourite poem
No i did not write it XD
I simply borrowed it


But anyway ..I'm amazed that I could remember it :L
its from World War 1 ..... or 2 ... I'm really not sure :S

But I love it so i thought I'd share it with ye

UPDATE ... dulce et decorum est pro patria mori means
its is honourable to die for ones country