I can hear an army calling,
Foot-charge o’er bugler’s wails,
Battle horses thundering -
Infinite chariot driving mud.
Sweet dew drips across the tawny
Leaves, a fabric of Victoria’s
Corset flutters in the swinging
Tree, a dying mongrel in the gutter -
A hazy line of refugees.
I can feel an army charging,
Foot-soul blades of bayonet,
Ablaze in battle, brothers screaming -
Infinite cannon, carmine dawn.
A mother’s kiss across her infant’s
Brow, a lover’s rose of last night’s
Courtship, mangled in the bloody
Snow, a girl is singing in the rubble -
The ubiquitous song of war