Mount Strange


They shot Brown Willy here !  Now, why did they?

Could bullet singing home and tearing flesh

Atone for what some called base treachery?

A tottering shell is buttressed by a stay

At whose request?  The winds return afresh,

One day to mingle stones with waiting sea.

Bathers and babies, folk come here to play

Careless of time and history’s close mesh,

Glad for the sun, the now, the blithe and free !

Why did they shoot him?  Who shall ask or say?

This leaning ruin is a question mark.

Whose treachery is here, slayer or slain’s?

Be sure we, who to keep life are at pains,

Lose it not finally, chasing the dark.


Weekly Times     16.9.60