This poem is taken from Poetry Nation 2 Number 2, 1974.
The Military MuseumThis mortar, hid in weeds, might be a bell.
Green grass, grey cobwebs, on the gallery stone
Turkish graffiti: Kilroy left his name.
The cannon rust, the yellow wall turns dun;
That fallen bell could be a captured gun.
Stairs to the honeycomb gallery shift and groan.
A lump of plaster tumbles to the floor.
Their giant cross was lepered by the rain,
...
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