• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 09
Image by

August 1914

Along the prom, their parasols flutter -
clouds of lace - as the sun shines hotter.
They close them nightly to watch it die,
and bleed its wounds across the sky.

But when dark clouds began to gather
in billowing smoke across corn and heather,
it was as though they suddenly knew
the thunder of guns was summer’s curfew.