Into the vortex of synthetic hate we flung
our eager bodies … we were so very young
and thus we reasoned: ‘Out of chaos came
once, long ago, a world of flowers and corn;
the dignity of cities and church spires
and love and laughter, grew from hideous flame.
All that endures
of these our fading dreams was borne
out of the pain and tumult, out of the storm …
surely from out the loins of this fire
will grow the shining world of our desire …’
But why do you grin, O Death, as at the gate
of every golden dawn you stand in wait?
WARRANT OFFICER RONALD WILCOX