The Garden called Gethsemane
In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass -- we used to pass
Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas
Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,
It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
I prayed my cup might pass.
The officer sat on the chair,
The men lay on the grass,
And all the time we halted there
I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn't pass -- it didn't pass --
It didn't pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
Beyond Gethsemane.

by Rudyard Kipling

Comments (3)

Life is tough enough without this evil creeping up on you. I admire you. Thank You for your support.
Awesome poetic synergy here as I admire these poetic eloquent terms that u rhymed in so meaningfully. It might be soulful but it is positively beautiful musing. Kudos. Pleez do review/comment my newest poem too titled, song for lunar lovers
Dear, just wrote it like after watch me around hahaha i mean i do feel this thing, low and up, cry but just so precise of what you write here, i just feel them and cant help but lock into it..thanks for this relatable feeling, i know i am not alone to have this..because we all human with feelings just in different place and having our life in different story line