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...PRIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE MEMORY OF INEZ MILHOLLAND by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHRISTMAS AT INDIAN POINT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MAGRADY GRAHAM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |