PUDNEY, John

For Johnny

Do not despair

For Johnny-head-in-air;

He sleeps as sound

As Johnny underground.

Fetch out no shroud

For Johnny-in-the-cloud;

And keep your tears

For him in after years.

Better by far

For Johnny-the-bright-star,

To keep your head,

And see his children fed.

Missing

Less said the better.

The bill unpaid, the dead letter,

No roses at the end,

Of Smith, my friend.

Last words don't matter,

And there are none to flatter

Words will not fill the post

Of Smith, the ghost.

For Smith, our brother,

Only son of loving mother,

The ocean lifted, stirred

Leaving no word.

Landscape: Western Desert

Winds carve this land

And velvet whorls of sand

Annul footprint and grave

Of lover, fool and knave.

Briefly the vetches bloom

In the blind desert room

When humble, bright and brave

Met common doom.

Their gear and shift

Smother in soft sand-drift,

Less perishable, less

Soon in rottenness.

Their war-spent tools of trade

In the huge space parade;

And with this last distress,

All scores are paid.

And who will see,

In such last anarchy

Of loveless lapse and loss

Which the blind sands now gloss,

the common heart which meant

Such good in its intent;

Such noble common dross

Suddenly spent.