I have held poverty
And carried ghostly cross yearning
Yet in sorrow I still
As maiden begins
Her seven breads
And my guarded losses
Nill or nighe
A candle, a rye
Choose of me only letter
That ilk and pluck are founded
Within my lone study

Those eyes will tell you
Against hurt
Which has taught us our being
That it is not possible
And in that revolt
I will halt
Beside another quartered
And create a Japanese soldier of your freedoms
Begin again

I have discovered his poem
Hearing with us
And relieved his pail

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I am Backdraft