NOW ASK YOURSELF, WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF WILFRED OWEN HAD TURNED TO THE DARK SIDE...
Move them into the rain
Gently their touch awoke them once
At home, fizzing of oats half-sown
Sideways it poked him, even in Madge
Until this dawning and this snow
If anything might rouse them now
The kind old hoe will know
Think how it wakes the seeds
Woke once the hops of a cold beer
Are bags, so clear defined, are binds
Fully-wired - ever warm - too hard when stirred?
Was it for this one night they stood tall?
O what made fleshy receptacles soil
To break Clarissa's hump at all?