GOD with a Roll of Honour in His hand
Sits welcoming the heroes who have died,
While sorrowless angels ranked on either side
Stand easy in Elysiums meadow-land.
Then you come shyly through the garden gate,
Wearing a blood-soaked bandage on your head;
And God says something kind because youre dead,
And homesick, discontented with your fate.
If I were there wed snowball Death with skulls;
Or ride away to hunt in Devils Wood
With ghosts of puppies that we walked of old.
But youre alone; and solitude annuls
Our earthly jokes; and strangely wise and good
You roam forlorn along the streets of gold.
