-H-I-L-T-O-F- -R-E-V-E-R-I-E-

I stood there on my hilltop
Weary and alone
My helmet heavy on my head
My rifle in my hand.
A blackened bayonet was on its muzzle
Bullets in the chamber.
I was on guard and it was
War.

I stood there on my hilltop
Legs braced against the wind
My trousers flapping at my legs.
The wind shreiked wildly
In my ears;
Blowing by me madly, tearing thorn trees
That stood belowme on thehill.

Falling limbs, scraping boughs, and
Whispering leaves:

The wind was high tonight.

I stood thereon my hilltop
Shivering in the wind;
Cold and shivering in the harsh, wild wind.
Yet not all the cold eas from the wind,
Andall the shivering was not cold.

I stood there on my hilltop
And high aboveme storm clouds gathered.
The gibbousmoon stared down
Unwinking, hood eye
A serpent's eye and cold
Seeing thoughts and smells and sounds;
Missing naught; not any thing
Making outof rocks and trees
Vast fearful shaeows of black night.

I stood thereon my hilltop
And belowmex on the hillside, hid among
The thorn trees, stood
The camp.

Thin, trickling streams of light,
Messengers oflife, crept up
To keep me lonely company
There upon my hilltop
In the wild and wailing wind
Beneath the gibbousmoon.

The smells ofmidnite coffee
And music of guitars
Assailed my ears and nostrils: Songs and smells
Of soldiers, men of earth, who speak
Of foaming beer andlusty, gold-skinned wenches,
And sneer and gibe at life
Andmillionaires.

Men who bleed--whodie.

-H-I-L-L-T-O-P-.-R-E-V-ERR-I-E-

I stood there on my hilltop
Weary and alone
My helmet heavy on my head
My rifle in my hand.
A blackened bayonet was on the muzzle
Bullets in the chamber.
I was on guard and it was
War.

I stood there on my hilltop
Legs braced against the wind
My trousers flapping at my legs.
The wind shreikod wildly
In my ears;
Blowing by me madly, rearing thorn trees
That stood below me on the hill.

Whispering

Falling limbs, scraping boughs, and
TKKBLINKING leaves:

The wind was high tonight.

I stood there on my hilltop
Shivering in the wind;
Cold and shivering in the harsh, wild wind.
Yet not all the cold was from the wind,
And all the shivering was not cold.

I stood there on my hilltop
And high above me storm clouds gathered.
The gibbous moon stared down
Unwinking, hooded eye
A serpent's eye and cold
Seeing thoughts and smells and sounds;
Missing naught; not any thing
Making out of rocks and trees
Vast fearful shadows of black night.

I stood there on my hilltop
And below me on the hillside, hid among
The thorn trees, stood
The camp.

Thin, trickling streams of light,
Messengers of life, crept up
To keep me lonely company
There upon my hilltop
In the wild and wailing wind
Beneath the gibbous moon.

The smells of midnight coffee
And music of guitars
Assailed my ears and nostrils: Songs and smells
Of soldiers, men of earth, who speak
Of foaming beer and iusty gold-skinned wenches
And Men-who sneer and gibe at life
And Millionaires.

Men who bleed-who die.

And far below the camp I saw the road

-H-I-L-L-T-O-P- -R-E-V-E-R-I-E-

I stood there on my hilltop
Weary and alone
My helmet heavy on my head
My rifle in my hand.
A blackened bayonet was on its muzzle;
Bullets in the chamber.
I was on guard and it was
War.

I stood there on my hilltop
Legs braced against the wind
My trousers flapping at my legs.
The wind shreiked wildly
In my ears;
Blowing by me madly, tearing thorn trees
That stood below me on the hill.

The wind was high tonight.

I stood there on my hilltop
And high above me, storm clouds gathered.
The gibbous moon stared down
Unwinking, hooded eye
A serpent's eye and cold
Seeing thoughts and smells and sounds;
Missing naught; not any thing
Making out of rocks and trees
Vast fearful shadows of black night.

The smells of midnight coffee
And music of guitars
Assailed my ears and nostrils: Songs and smells
Of soldiers, men of earth, who speak
Of foaming beer and lusty, gold-skinned wenches;
Men who sneer and gibe at life
And millionaires.

Men who bleed--who die.

2.

And far below the camp I saw the road:
Macabre ribbon, black and twisted, winding
From sea to mountain, back to sea
With blackedout cars a-creeping
Yard by yard.

Beyond the road the awesome sea,
The heaving, breathing, never-ceasing sea
The all-engulfing, ever-winning enemy of man:
The sea.

And dark
Looming in reflected moonlight
Old Koko Head and Diamond Head
Bulky in their faith, and bowed--perhaps--
But never broken.
No fear of little brown men marring their vast strength
By treachery or otherwise.

This, then, I thought, is Life: to be
Forever seeking
Ever hoping
Always searching
Ever gazing at the citadel
And never reaching.
This, then, is Life:
To wish to die, yet
Struggle to the death to live;
To be forever fighting wars
And seeking peace;
To love our fellow man
And stab him in the back.

This, then, will be the way of Life
But must this Thing
Forever be?
Will it go on and on and on
'Til naught but death remains?

I stood there on my hilltop
And sought to find an answer--
But there was none.

And the gaunt and gibbous moon stared down
A serpent's eye and cold
And the wind shreiked wildly
In my ears.
Blowing by me madly, tearing thorn trees
That stood below me on the hill.

Yes. 'Twas so.

The wind was high tonight.

THE END