Poem — Leonard Lambert

The Enamelled Box


When they unearth the mass graves
and discover the rivers of blood,
or even stop to puzzle over a million lost golf-balls,
may they also find medical instruments
of ingenious design and exquisite precision;
Let them come upon our music,
and ponder our desperate representations
of what we hoped might save us …
Above all, let them finger and fondle
a small enamelled treasure-box like this,
and, in spite of all and all, and worse,
not think too badly of us.


Leonard Lambert

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Posted in Poetry
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