A poem for Memorial Day. One I did not know before. The best thing about a community of poets is the friendship shared between all the voices remembering and grieving and celebrating around and beyond us.
“Night Bombers Getting Off from the Trezennes Aerodome, 1917” by Harold Wyllie (wikimedia)
(The Fantasia of a Fallen Gentleman on a Cold, Bitter Night)
Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy.
In a flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now I see
That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.
by T. E. Hulme (16 September 1883 – 28 September 1917)