THE SOLDIER

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust conceal'd;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air.
Wash'd by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

Astral

And when the rain falls
I hide in every puddle and
in every drop that drips
down your neck

and when the wind blows
I wrestle the leaves to the ground
and place them on the path
for you to curse each morning

and when the snow settles
I shall mess up your hair
and make you wish that
you’d stayed at home instead

but when the night comes
you’ll see me swinging from Orion’s belt
like a distant lucky charm
looking after you still, even after all this time.

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