Glyn Maxwell

Though we saw the land as flat as this,

as sucked, as stunk with them and us,

last time we did and time before

       and knelt aghast 

and gravely lifted the word war

to hang in rags from the broken mast -


wait long enough and from the sky

rain words to soften, words to grey

the memory, words to diffuse

     all loss, all crimes;

then come like weeds and come like flowers

words for marches, words for hymns.








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