I Have No Gift Of Words, But

God Help Us For We Knew The Worst Too Young.

As I Pass Through My Incarnations In Every Age And Race, I Make My Proper Prostrations To The Gods Of The Market-place. Peering Through Reverent Fingers I Watch Them Flourish And Fall, And The Gods Of The Copybook Headings, I Notice, Outlast Them All.

When You're Wounded And Left On Afghanistan's Plains, And The Women Come Out To Cut Up What Remains, Jest Roll To Your Rifle And Blow Out Your Brains And Go To Your Gawd Like A Soldier.

The Heart Of A Man To The Heart Of A Maid- Light Of My Tents, Be Fleet- Morning Awaits At The End Of The World, And The World Is All At Our Feet.

Each Dog Barks In His Own Yard!