CATALONIA
      

      The flag of darkness lowers at half mast Blotting the blood-stained hieroglyphs with eyes Strained from the smoke, the flares, the rat-tat-tat Of guns' incessant speech. A sudden lull Fans wind on brow , betokens from far hills The ones who rest--oh unbelieveably A girl who rests tired head on easy arm And sleeps encircled by her own heart-beat.
      
      But we, grey snakes who twist and squirm our way From hump to sodden hump, roll in a hole Of slime, scarring our knees to keep awake--For us horizons reel, groping for a centre, Stars burn in whirling sockets overhead--We wrench ourselves over the last tench, down Down, down in scurrying scramble tossed Towards lost lines, lost outposts, lost defence...