THE PRISONER’S BALLAD

The prisoner falls down a ditch

and clutching at his pain he sighs

“I’ll stop a bit.” A soldier shoots,

the prisoner tips over, dies.

The soldier jumps into a hole,

an airplane sees him where he lies.

The bullets make a dotty line,

the soldier bleeds a pint and dies.

Home goes the pilot up the wind,

alas a shell bursts as he flies.

He thinks of mother, wife and child,

dives into the ground and dies.

Beside his head a daisy stands,

the night flings out its stars;

a blade of weed leaps round her stem,

the daisy chokes, death is no farce.

I rise and strut and din at God,

“Pity! Comfort! Bring release!”

God murmurs at the stars

“Continue, if you please”.