Skip to main content

Remembering My Brothers on a Moonlight Night

ISSUE:  Spring 1925

A wanderer hears drums, warning him of war,
And that one cry of autumn from a wild-goose at the border,
And he knows that the dews tonight will be frost
With a moon less bright than the moon at home.
O my brothers, lost to me and scattered?
Life is nothing, lacking you! Yet if mails in time of peace go wrong—
What can I hope for, during war?


This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

Recommended Reading