The wings of the great dark angel – I heard them brushing,
I heard them brushing but thank God not by me,
And the tide of battle came suddenly to me rushing
From a dark Malayan jungle over the sea:
And a child not six years old who had lost her brother,
Was hiding her face from me.
The wings of the great dark angel I heard them brushing
- And the darkness fell on another’s Calvary.
And my own little one came running to me frightened,
Crying ‘Mummy, what was it made him killed?’
And I said, ‘It is destiny dark and doom the dreadful,’
And I showed her then how golden the sunlight spilled.
‘But Mummy what was it made him have to die?’
And I answered her gently of was in tribal places
And the cross of man with his endless battle-cry.
Llywelyn Lucas 1943
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