Friday, August 10, 2007

Field Music II


Stationed in your sickbed, Soldier,
What do you dream but peace -
From Texas, our skull grazed desert,
Absent as a friend's lost face.


You watch the wanderers by the fountain
Scatter their looks like gold;
See one, the absolute of longing,
Turn towards you as a child.


O happier than hero, lover
Illustrious in arms,
How are the plesant years upon you,
Which wear no uniforms.


But dreams like dawns are daily broken
By this inspecting sun:
Awake, you count the wounded minutes,
And the long war goes on.

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