Maxioms by Wilfred Owen
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Behold,A ram caught in a thicket by its horns;Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.But the old man would read more
Behold,A ram caught in a thicket by its horns;Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.But the old man would not so, but slew his son...
Move him into the sun —Gently its touch awoke him once,At home, whispering of fields unsown.Always it woke him, even read more
Move him into the sun —Gently its touch awoke him once,At home, whispering of fields unsown.Always it woke him, even in France,Until this morning and this snow.
