Milk hearted, a timid stunt
of drifts and thieves distorted
the silks of a grave surpassed -
a lay unchartered, where fray
and wound next glory became
a khaki hill without a name.
The tame of each dread root
thwarted – the tip of each snapped finger
larked, and dipped its fever
into parts of men long since lost -
a thousand yards of misspent youth
martyred in the frost.