All summer long the lookout in his tower
scans the huge green wilderness around him Read more …
We stand and watch, faith almost wavering,
hunger looking out of childish eyes,
daddy so tall, holding the frightened thing,
head on the block just as the hatchet flies,
falling . . . fallen by the empty pen,
taking the longest count, as red wings rise,
free at last, and we are saved again.
Smoke in the alley of her love,
rank smouldering rags inside a barrel,
as swarthy Syrians push and shove,
like Moors of old, determined, feral .
They’ll raise the crescent, kill the dove,
till “Allah Akbar” drowns our carol.
Our children will learn soon enough,
in Europe, foolish, vain and sterile.
October 18, 2015