Sometimes you hear, fifth-hand, As epitaph: He chucked up everything And just cleared off, And always the voice will sound Certain you…

On the day of the explosion Shadows pointed towards the pithead: In the sun the slagheap slept. Down the lane came men…

(d. January 1939) I He disappeared in the dead of winter: The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted, And snow disfigured…