On Seeing a Poet of the First World War at Abbeville by Charles Causley
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POET, cast your careful eye Where the beached songs of summer lie, White fell the wave that splintered The wreck where once you wintered, White as the snow that lair Your freezing hair.
Captain, here you took your wine, The trees at ease in the orchard-line, Bonny the errand-boy bird Whistles the song you once heard, While you traverse the wire, Autumn will hold her fire.
Through the tall wood the thunder ran As when the gibbering guns began, Swift as a murderer by the stack Crawled the canal with fingers black, Black with your brilliant blood You lit the mud.
Two grey moths stare from your eyes, Sharp is your sad face with surprise. In the stirring pool I fail To see the drowned of Passchendaele, Where all day drives for me The spoiling sea.
