The dancers
P. Miles
All day beneath the hurtling shells
Before my burning eyes
Hover the dainty demoiselles
The peacock dragon-flies.
Unceasingly they dart and glance
Above the stagnant stream
And I am fighting here in France
As in a senseless dream.
A dream of shattering black shells
That hurtle overhead,
And dainty dancing demoiselles
Above the dreamless dead.