'When lo! An angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not a hand upon that lad,
But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.'
From: The Parable of the Old man and the Young.
Dead at twenty-five, poet and chronicler
of a war too horrible to contemplate.
Genius touched the soul of one so young
to leave these images of terrible desolation,
of youth plucked before their sap had risen.
Amongst them you, young soldier-poet,
to whom I dedicate this 'in memoriam.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.