On the closing of the Scottsboro Boys (100th Post)

There is naught but a fortnight left till the winds blow hard and high
Till the song the hearts of men beat strong
Till the song of war picks up again
Till the long of the moon shines on the darkest sun cloud sky
Till the brightness of soul fills the heads of men
Till women shriek and the crows in the fields disappear for the sound marching near; beckons to the animals to flee – to flee!
For the war is coming
The war is coming; and there is nothing we can do to stop it