And the squatting man sobs on his own,
Clutching his knees and the grimy frame –
The last image of the fallen soldier,
Seemingly crumpled and withered by age
And yet the boat left Blighty but ten days.
The skylark soars into the azure belt
As the crying man tries to hide his shame
Of the haze of hills where he found his love,
The quay where he lost it: to him the same.