The Burning Marl


J. Le Gay Brereton

WHERE yonder ruddy-misted star
            Is tumbling down the placid sky
            The people’s aims were not so high
As our heroic motives are;
To love and trust they set a bar,
    And “Profit” was their only cry;
    They paid but little heed how nigh
Came thundering the iron car.

It rushed upon them and it passed
    Leaving a ghost of pain and fear
        To haunt the ruin it had made.
But surely they have learnt at last?
    What far faint murmur can we hear
        Of frantic howling? Listen! . . . “TRADE.”

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