Sixteen Summers
Slithering serpents,
slimed with their own salvia
Thieving contortionists
of stolen young souls
Of youth, snapped
lilies not yet bloomed
Of sowed wheat, not yet
swayed in afternoon sunlight
Of fruit, unripe, still
bitter to the tongue
Your evil knuckled hand
of death
Stretching out to
snatch its wet-eyed, first day trophy
To suck down into your
serpents den of quicksand mud
Be shameful of this,
his baptism morning of eternity
Let his beloved
Woodhouse Lane weep bitterly
Behind the shrouds, of
soiled terraced lace curtains
Harry Mills Boracay Philippines 5 March 2012
Dedicated to Tony’s youngest ghost :
Private Horace Iles
Aged 16, the youngest soldier to die on the first
day of the Somme
1st July 1916
