Treasure Island

Wilfred Owen

(1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)

I Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson


I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell,
Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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