Escape? There Is One Unwatched Way: Your

Whatever Mourns When Many Leave These Shores: Whatever Shares The Eternal Reciprocity Of Tears.

Soldiers May Grow A Soul When Turned To Fronds, But Here The Thing's Best Left At Home With Friends.

No-man's Land Under Snow Is Like The Face Of The Moon: Chaotic, Crater Ridden, Uninhabitable, Awful, The Abode Of Madness.

If I Have To Be A Soldier I Must Be A Good One, Anything Else Is Unthinkable

All The Poet Can Do Today Is Warn. That Is Why True Poets Must Be Truthful.