Your blood moving in the quiet wind;
No longer afraid of the rabbits
Hurrying through the tall grass
Or faces laughing on the beach
And among the cold trees
Alone in the sleeves of grief,
Listening to clothes falling
And to your flesh touching God;
To the chatter and backslapping
Of Christ meeting heroes of war.
Your words have passed
The light shining from the East
And the sound of the flack
Raping graves and emptying seasons.
You do not hear the dry wind pray
Or the children play
A game called Soldiers in the street.
Brian Patten wrote Sleep Now
in memory of Wilfred Owen