His eyes were made green in the war that built the Burma Road, littering dead along its verges -- discarded picnic tins. The road has also decomposed into the jungle's root and rains somewhere north across the river while here he has imposed the order of his campaign -- a house, hoed vegetables, petals English as Michaelmas, their beds besieged in jungle terrain. Unslinging packs, we rest among his Western flowers. Our eyes acknowledge, but don't question, his within this citadel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD MADE AT THE REQUEST OF HIS MOTHER .. PRAY TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON A POISON TREE, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE TO MY INCONSTANT MISTRESS by THOMAS CAREW THE RABBIT by ELIZABETH MADOX ROBERTS WINTER: MY SECRET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |