Colin F. Jones


A torrent surges from a flesh-wound
That seethes with hot and burning pain;
Though in his anguish he seems immune,
The adrenalin will plunge again.
While to the heights of courage surging,
Less is his caution and his care,
Cold calculation is soon emerging,
That there is no task he would not dare.
But he who lives to feel elation,
From that great height must surely fall,
Below the level of its persuasion,
That he thinks no heroes thoughts at all.
‘Tis said he did it for his nation…
But now he’s dead he can’t recall.