TIME'S CHANGES
Four years ago today in ItalyI gathered wild flowers for a girl—Thick-scented broom, wild sword-flowers,The red anemones that line the waysAnd the frail-throated freeziaWhich lives beneath the orange boughsAnd whose faint scent to meIs love's own breath, its kiss …
To-day in sunless, barren fieldsI gather heads of shells,Splinters of shrapnel, cartridges …
What shall I gatherFour years from today?