Murmerings in a Field Hospital

[They picked him up in the grass where he had lain two days in the rain with a piece of shrapnel in his lungs ] 

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