In the cold light of day,
On the morning after,
We will wake
And find that our loss meant nothing.
We will still flounder against the surge of futile courage
And drown in the blood of patriots.
Our allies will turn and strike us.
The proverbial viper beneath the flower.
In dry-eyed patriarchs tears will pool
Bemoaning the passing of those who came after
And woe to those who harboured secret loves
For now it shall remain,
Unreturned and unknown
And must hence devour the life that feeds it.
