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.