Away from camp
Any flame in biting cold,
Any light in shadow black,
Any pill for dread so deep,
Any tincture just to sleep.
Any fuel to start the car,
No thought for an engine’s health,
Let it smoke, exhaust it’s fumes,
She must move, I’ve things to do
While warm, a-lit and unafraid,
And rested in this cavalcade,
A road of crux-lined-colonnades,
All these things I’ve bought, I’ve paid,
As my time and mind do fade.
© SXT 2023