Author John Boyle O'Reilly Soldier, why do you shrink from the hiss of the hungry lead? The bullet that whizzed is past; the approaching ball is dumb. Stand straight! you cannot shrink from Fate: let it come! A comrade in front may hear it whiz—when you are dead. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4 (2 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments