The copious shambles of rocks
waylaid the roadside,
by the time we saw the  Beaufort castle walls
it was easy to see it as a mirror
of its surroundings,
a cannonade of angry words
miscued with shots of Peace.
This belated excursion
was like an erstwhile  trumpet
for phosphorus clouds
and driven rain shrapnel
had attempted to ebonize the landscape,
our luggage with best intent was smoking
by the derelict Vichy bolt hole.