The bitter smattering, the cold, stagnant icicles <br />Of the iron birds, their rigid wings <br />Descend like anathema <br /> Upon our sun-caked heads, <br /> Our firebird souls— <br /> <br />The Fritz’s stiff storm cloud, mechanical rain <br />Shield the sun, their livid lightning <br />Lingering like irony <br /> Over our bloodshot lips, <br /> Our firebird fists— <br /> <br />The sloping, oblique hill, the lead drizzle <br />Force us upwards! upwards! Through the hail <br />We forge like courage <br /> To the bunkered hill, <br /> Our fearless foes— <br /> <br />Metal clashes fleshing—our stomachs barraged <br />Of Baron’s blow, its hideous squall; further, boys, <br />Of wars do we go! <br /> Upon the knolling crest, <br /> The firebirds sigh, now home.<br /><br />Jonzo Bandwagoner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-firebirds/
