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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374758" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bullets</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As bullets come to us they're thin, <br>They're angular, or smooth and fat, <br>Some spiral are, and gimlet in, <br>And some are sharp, and others flat. <br>The slim one pink you clean and neat, <br>The flat ones bat a solid blow <br>Much as a camel throws his feet, <br>And leave you beastly incomplete. <br>If lucky you don't know it through. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The flitting bullets flow and flock; <br>They twitter as they pass; <br>They're picking at the solid rock, <br>They're rooting in the grass. <br>A tiny ballet swiftly throws <br>Its gossamer of rust, <br>Brown fairies on their little toes <br>A-dancing in the dust. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You cower down when first they come <br>With snaky whispers at your ear; <br>And when like swarming bees they hum <br>You know the tinkling chill of fear. <br>A whining thing will pluck your heel, <br>A whirring insect sting your shin; <br>You shrink to half your size, and feel <br>The ripples o'er your body seal- <br>'Tis terror walking in your skin! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bullets pelt like winter hail, <br>The whistle and they sigh, <br>They shrill like cordage in a gale, <br>Like mewing kittens cry; <br>They hiss and spit, they purring come; <br>Or, silent all a span, <br>They rap, as on a slackened drum, <br>The dab that kills a man. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rage takes you next. All hot your face <br>The bitter void, and curses leap <br>From pincered teeth. The wide, still space <br>Whence all these leaden devil's sweep <br>Is Tophet. Fiends by day and night <br>Are groping for your heart to sate <br>In blood their diabolic spite. <br>You shoot in idiot delight, <br>Each winging slug a hymn of hate. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The futile bullets scratch and go, <br>They chortle and the coo. <br>I laugh my scorn, for now I know <br>The thing they cannot do. <br>They flit like midges in the sun, <br>But howso thick they be <br>What matter, since there is not one <br>That God has marked for me! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">An Eastern old philosophy <br>Come home at length and passion stills- <br>The thing will be that is to be, <br>And all must come as Heaven wills. <br>Where in the swelter and the flame <br>The new, hot, shining bullets drip; <br>One in the many has an aim, <br>Inwove a visage and a name- <br>No man may give his fate the slip! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bullets thrill along the breeze, <br>They drum upon the bags, <br>They tweak your ear, your hair they tease, <br>And peck your sleeve to rags. <br>Their voices may no more annoy- <br>I chortle at the call: <br>The bullet that is mine, my boy, <br>I shall not hear at all! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The war's a flutter very like <br>The tickets that we took from Tatt. <br>Quite possibly I'll make a strike; <br>The odds are all opposed to that. <br>Behind the dawn the Furies sway <br>The mighty globe from which to get <br>Those bullets which throughout the day <br>Will winners be to break or slay. <br>I have not struck a starter yet </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The busy bullets rise and flock; <br>They whistle as they pass; <br>They're chipping at the solid rock, <br>They're skipping in the grass. <br>Out there the tiny dancers throw <br>Their sober skirts of rust, <br>Brown flitting figures tipping toe <br>Along the golden dust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+George+Dyson">Edward George Dyson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374758" data-title="Bullets de Edward George Dyson" data-description="As bullets come to us they're thin, 
They're angular, or smooth and fat, 
Some spiral are, and gimlet in, 
And some are sharp, and others flat. 
The slim one pink you clean and neat, 
The flat ones bat a solid blow 
Much as a camel throws his feet..."></div>
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