Ploughshares

In old verse we plough on
And on to stone and beauty.
The earth yields a mustard
And a beauty in the furrow .

In verse we touch passing,
Walking man sits by furrow.
A man is lost to war,a talk
While an elm lay dead by it.

This man might have helped
Taking away the elms corpse.
But now he is war’s corpse
Blizzards corpse is to stay.

(Reading Edward Thomas’ s poem The teams head brass)

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