It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg, He thought he'd better join. - He wonders why. Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts, That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg; Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts He asked to join. He didn't have to beg; Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years. Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt, And Austria's, did not move him. And no fears Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes; And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears; Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits. And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Taken from the poem Disabled, by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)