I
I should like to imagine
A moonlight in which there would be no machine-guns!
For, it is possible
To come out of a trench or a hut or a tent or a church all in ruins:
To see the black perspective of long avenues
All silent.
The white strips of sky
At the sides, cut by the poplar trunks:
The white strips of sky
Above, diminishing-
The silence and blackness of the avenue
Enclosed by immensities of space
Spreading away
Over No Man’s Land….
For a minute…
For ten…
There will be no star shells
But the untroubled stars,
There will be no Very light
But the light of the quiet moon
Like a swan.
And silence….
Then, far away to the right thro’ the moonbeams
“Wukka Wukka” will go the machine-guns,
And, far away to the left
“Wukka Wukka”.
And sharply,
Wuk … Wuk … and then silence
For a space in the clear of the moon.
II
I should like to imagine
A moonlight in which the machine-guns of trouble
Will be silent….
Do you remember, my dear,
Long ago, on the cliffs, in the moonlight,
Looking over to Flatholme
We sat … Long ago!…
And the things that you told me…
Little things in the clear of the moon,
The little, sad things of a life….
We shall do it again
Full surely,
Sitting still, looking over at Flatholme.
Then, far away to the right
Shall sound the Machine Guns of trouble
Wukka-wukka!
And, far away to the left, under Flatholme,
Wukka-wuk!…
I wonder, my dear, can you stick it?
As we should say: “Stick it, the Welch!”
In the dark of the moon,
Going over….
(Ford Madox Ford)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Light Poems, Sadness Poems, Christianity Poems, Silence Poems, Space Poems, Curiosity PoemsBased on Keywords: diminishing, welch, wuk, immensities, machine-guns