Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us...
Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire,
The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow...
Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
Pale flakes with fingering stealth come feeling for our faces -
Slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing th sunk fires, glozed
Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
To-night, this frost will fasten on this mud and us,