Arms and the Boy
the boy try along this bayonet-blade
cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
with all malice, like a madmanís flash;
thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.
him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads
long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,
give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth,
with the sharpness of grief and death.
his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
God will grow no talons at his heels,
antlers through the thickness of his curls.