I knew you a generation of loss,
But have not spun my thread
To plug the same pains;
Nor braced on my fingers,
The root to stem the same hunger.
I knew you a generation of loss,
That lived or perished
At the turning of the winds;
That held court with a devil,
Our hands built to being.
I knew you a generation of loss,
And have known the same skies,
High and clear and open,
Not mourned by gas or fire,
Nor crowded with the newly lost.
I knew you a generation of loss,
But have not fought the same fight,
And have not felt the same losing,
And have not seen the heart of man,
Unwind his brothers to the soil.
