The Yellow Canary
His mind was full of bonfires
his chest full of mustard gas
as he coughed all day
If only I could die
he would have thought
if he could have thought.
She sat beside him holding his hand,
her face pock-marked and yellow
from the munitions factory
No one knew
what the chemical ration could do
but she sat crooning her song.
Copyright © Terry Vannecksurplice | Year Posted 2014
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