Now and Then

Oh, God, make small

The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,

That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.—T. E. Hulme

I thought—that’s if I thought of it at all—

I’d like the music of the future when it came,

But now it’s here and being sung

The song’s all wrong;

The singer’s got the  words confused,

And sings them like a cat with mange.

I did not suppose the sound of things to come would be so blasted strange!

Note: Artillery Lieutenant Tom Hulme was killed by a shell at Oostduinkerke in Flanders in September 1917. Lost in thought, he failed to take cover like those around him when it was heard coming.