TIME'S CHANGES
Four years ago today in Italy
I gathered wild flowers for a girl—
Thick-scented broom, wild sword-flowers,
The red anemones that line the ways
And the frail-throated freezia
Which lives beneath the orange boughs
And whose faint scent to me
Is love's own breath, its kiss …
To-day in sunless, barren fields
I gather heads of shells,
Splinters of shrapnel, cartridges …
What shall I gather
Four years from today?
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