"The Flowers Of The Forest"

Something I wish
I had written: dirges and the
Needless exuberance of
Sentimentality, the thundering
At dusk falling
Mortar shells from some experimental
Way of winning a Battle, what
Fields and sand and
Regimental Colors
Bursting like the names
Of ruined Cities.
In Tweed, seek out your
'Silvered streams'. The
morning, adorned in repeating shades
of succession and defeat. The dead
know and shall continue
to know and
what they do,
we shall: marking out
on maps and such
the muttering armies, planned along
borders and manic Geniuses, the tramping Lines
of Young Men:
elaborate of dress and dreams,
something
I wish I had
Written:
The young Scottish
Private half-sick and feeling the
Spring grass underneath
His cheek, how it
Smells the same as here as
Home, some
Shepherd in a meadow
Composes a song
And suddenly,
Building wars around
Anthems! The boys,
Trudging home the German
Soldier crossing hand-dug
Lines, the varied and
Terribly bright blessings
Of timely fortune, what
Happened along the Marne at
Tannenborg, the
Brilliant uniforms and the decorum
Of Tender glances…all the
Way of things descriptive of
Power…balancing and reforming
And the fall of Old Orders:

Something I wish I had
Written.