The Returned Man

By Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THEY thought that he would come back

Quieter,

Less boyish,

But still a hero with tales to tell.

So, when there were no tales,

Only blank silences —

When he lay for hours

Staring through leafing branches

And forgot them

Utterly —

They tried to arouse him, saying:

“The war is over.”

But when he turned on them

His shadowed eyes

They stammered —

Knowing that they lied!