The heavy cannon are shouldering their men High, high and tinnily, Over the hill. Doused in the sun's reds 5 Their submerged torsos elongate to little screams; Compliant sheep stare stonily. Some of them are wounded, Some of them are dying. Some of them are shot in the heart. 10 Ravens leap out of the sky like icicles, Like little knives Bearing their shattering voices before them. Thundering cannon prognosticate No end to this winter. 15 The knives Arrive blindingly.
From the collection "Contemporaries"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.