Marching (As Seen From the Left File)

My eyes catch ruddy necks

Sturdily pressed back -

All a red brick moving glint.

Like flaming pendulums, hands

Swing across the khaki -

Mustard-coloured khaki -

To the automatic feet.

We husband the ancient glory

In these bared necks and hands.

Not broke is the forge of Mars;

But a subtler brain beats iron

To shoe the hoofs of death,

(Who paws dynamic air now).

Blind fingers loose an iron cloud

To rain immortal darkness

On strong eyes.