Murmerings in a Field Hospital
Come to me only with playthings now
A picture of a singing woman with blue eyes
Standing at a fence of hollyhocks, poppies and sunflowers
Or an old man I remember sitting with children telling stories
Of days that never happened anywhere in the world
No more iron cold and real to handle,
Shaped for a drive straight ahead
Bring me only beautiful useless things
Only old home things touched at sunset in the quiet
And at the window one day in summer
Yellow of the new crock of butter
Stood against the red of new climbing roses
And the world was all playthings