You scooped them up,
those coward souls.
All the way into a misty gloom.
Where shadows warp time,
and silence is a duty.
Then you forgot heaviness.
Then you forgot hearts.
Yet, even when the
vanguard was dying –
clothes and face
turning a sodden green.
I wondered again,
what meant these
sites and sounds?
Those wailing souls
calling for their mothers.
As if there was nothing
but morning and
sunrise in the world.
A Wandering Poet 