At_Last

Judges G.F.E. McGuiness

On Sunday when the troopers came Frenzy running red Onlookers gasped destruction's path So many lying dead. Monday came And came again. Yet, as many came and flew, Powdered hair and robes declared How little that these cloven knew But that the dead had made their due. On Sunday when the troopers came Frenzied running mad Common men were sport to them Life was sport and sport was had. Tuesdays came And Wednesdays so By Thursdays what was hell was known But that the corps had come and gone Their vigil and their duty done. One Friday when our own redress Lashed out, in kind, in wilderness And crushed those horns like peppercorns, Vengeant, sparing none, Into their tombs Spent bodies swooned, Of their own inaction, doomed. When our last nail hammered home We paused and saw what we'd become. It struck us, then, that we were them,

Souls, by devils, snatched again. Qualms and scruples ever gone Thus it was that they had won.

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