Look there! The sunk road winding
To the fortified farm.
Listen! The cock’s alarm
In the strange valley.
Are we the stubborn athletes;
Are we then to begin
The run between the gin
And bloody falcon?
The horns of the dark squadron
Converging to attack;
The sound behind our back
Of glaciers calving.
In legend all were simple,
And held the straitened spot;
But we in legend not,
Are not simple.
In weakness how much further;
Along what crooked route
By hedgehog’s gradual foot.
Or fish’s fathom.
Bitter the blue smoke rises
From garden bonfires lit.
To where we burning sit:
Good, if it’s thorough.
Leaving no double traitor
In days of luck and heat.
To time the double beat.
At last together.
