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Eighth Air Force |
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If, in an odd angle of the huntment A puppy laps the water from a can Of flowers, and the drunk sergeant shaving Whistles O Paradiso! -- shall I say that man Is not as men have said: a wolf to man? The other murderers troop in yawning; Three of them play Pitch, one sleeps, and one Lies counting missions, lies there sweating Till even his heart beats: One; One; One. O murderers! . . . Still, this is how it's done: This is a war . . . But since these play, before they die, Like puppies with their puppy; since a man, I did as these have done, but did not die -- I will content the people as I can And give up these to them: Behold the man! I have suffered, in a dream, because of him, Many things; for this last savior, man, I have lied as I lie now. But what is lying? Men wash their hands, in blood, as best they can. I find no fault in this just man. -- Randall Jarrell |
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READING / LITERATURE LITERATURE ON LINE |