Poem XIV


White wine wonders
red wine knows
(give me Blue for the morning rose)

Fly down, Angel
with your steel nose
in stuttering rows.

(The democrat hardly knows
what is going when it goes.)


To your parents, Last,
but your sons call you First;
First of your kind,
the tall, gray, Cursed

Of whom, pray, will the Judge demand:
Why did this boy die of thirst?

White Wind wanders
Red Poppy grows
And Blue Lords topple in helpless rows.

2 thoughts on “Poem XIV

  1. Thanks, Father. I enjoy reading poetry myself. I esp. like G. K. Chesterton, T.S. Eliot, Geo. Herbert, Francis Thompson.

    BTW, I just found out on Sunday that I’m going to church with some of your relatives. It was one of those small-world moments.


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