We work for soldiers' pay,
The flesh's pittance,
Can smell d**h's kiss before it close our mouth,
So young we make the creeping worm's acquaintance.
Common as dandelions men serve their narrow
Sentence.
North or South:
Defeated suns that dustily burn away.
Yet having spent our wage
On splendours fleeting,
The spider soul, conceiving still, takes stock
Of wayside valour, weaves a brittle greeting
From weed to weed, wind-grafted on the rock;
Two braveries meeting,
New God is born, to fire the world with rage.