Brazilian Tears and Other Poems

But how can a boy forget the furious
Winds of the war, or the soldiers
With their endless shouting, their officious spouting,
And their boots stomping on the floor
Until, like the wind, they were gone once more.

And what good are the weighty words of the wise
If they're just as fleeting as the wind,
When the boy, later that dreary night,
To add to his plight, found his mother
With the lifeless body of his only brother.

Yet the boy will never forget the fear
And the oppressive darkness outside,
And the all-pervading stench of death
When he held this breath as he fled in turn,
Convinced that he would never return.