They must be
Freshly dead
Whose shapes
Were met
As clotted earth
Were met
As shadows
In the fog
Greeted warmly
Tottering
Their time
Was spent
In puttering
To safe a place
From stuttering
To damp the shock
And run the line
From home to hell
And back again
Quick work
Was made
Of then
They must be
Freshly dead
Again
Again
Again
Again
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment