Today upon these very fields Meadows of green and flowers yield As breeze stops dead and from the leaves Comes a young girl in khaki green. Her dress is light, and her song is sweet As she picks her way on dainty feet.
But she is not the first to trek Through fresh-scented woods with curling breath In khaki green amidst the sea Of indigo and white and brightest green.
For as she scrabbles amongst dirt and stone She finds in her hand to be a bone. Unknowing of the man that shed it like A moulting woodlark born for flight.
Unknowing too is she of the dew That clings to blades of grass as slew Were brothers of flesh and blood and heart. What once was clouded red is glass.
She rises as the night descends, Skips home with grubby hands and dress But she is the only one in khaki green Whom after those woods was ever seen.
The forest left to whistle and sway Waits for the girl tomorrow-day When she will escape its clutches once more Dancing on the graves of twenty-four.