I bet you clicked on this expecting to read about a
gay porn film. You sick
puppies.
Edward Thomas (
1878–
1917)
THERE they stand, on their ends, the fifty
faggots
That once were
underwood of
hazel and
ash
In Jenny Pinks's
Copse. Now, by the
hedge
Close packed, they make a
thicket fancy alone
Can creep through with the
mouse and
wren. Next Spring
A
blackbird or a
robin will nest there,
Accustomed to them, thinking they will remain
Whatever is for ever to a bird.
This Spring it is too late; the swift has come,
'Twas a hot day for carrying them up:
Better they will never warm me, though they must
Light several Winters' fires. Before they are done
The
war will have ended, many other things
Have ended, maybe, that I can no more
Foresee or more control than robin and wren.