Kenneth Patchen

The Constant Bridegrooms

 

Far down the purple wood

Coats of a company

Of silent soldiers

Flap idly in the wind

 

There they have stood

 

Since early day

Faces turned incuriously to the sound

Of the dry rustling

Of leaves in the wind

 

No command has reached

 

Them there

All silent have they stood

As

Though they were asleep

Now night darkens their coats

Far away

Their names are spoken

Somewhere at world’s end