These Men
By Leon Gellert
Men moving in a trench,
in the clear noon,
Whetting their steel
within the crumbling earth;
Men, moving in a trench
‘neath a new moon
That smiles with a slit
mouth and has no mirth;
Men moving in a trench in
the grey morn,
Lifting bodies on their
clotted frames:
Men with narrow mouths
thin-carved in scorn
That twist and fumble
strangely at dead names.
These men know life –
know death a little more.
These men see paths and
ends, and see
Beyond some swinging open
door
Into eternity.
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