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Phanny, v. 3, issue 2, June 1944
Page 5
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5 PHANNY 5 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- REALITIES By day, my deeds are common-place; They deal with War, 'tis true, But War remote; the clang of mace On shield--Death's ruddy hue Of warm, slow-seeping blood--the whine Of shells--the charging line Of men--the faces grim with hate And purpose high or base-- The bomber bearing hideous freight-- Mere tales for Other Space. No, my concerns are more prosaic; A Colonel (over-age) requires A desk, and so for him I make A set of plans. Jeep tires Won't ride grease-racks of standard type; A guard-rail of steel pipe I must design, for jeeps need grease. What pride is one to take In tasks like these? The book of Peace Demands a greater stake. *** By day, my deeds are common-place But nights are mine to shape; My ship through interstellar space Drives on in wild escape. On Worlds 'neath cold Polaris' fire Harsh stones to Life aspire; Aldebaran sheds his Devil-glow Upon a madd'ning face That lesser men may never know, Who shun each horrid race That dwells on these for Worlds unknown, Whose joys I taste alone. By day, my deeds are common-place; Can vain dreams e'er atone? --D. B. Thompson
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5 PHANNY 5 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- REALITIES By day, my deeds are common-place; They deal with War, 'tis true, But War remote; the clang of mace On shield--Death's ruddy hue Of warm, slow-seeping blood--the whine Of shells--the charging line Of men--the faces grim with hate And purpose high or base-- The bomber bearing hideous freight-- Mere tales for Other Space. No, my concerns are more prosaic; A Colonel (over-age) requires A desk, and so for him I make A set of plans. Jeep tires Won't ride grease-racks of standard type; A guard-rail of steel pipe I must design, for jeeps need grease. What pride is one to take In tasks like these? The book of Peace Demands a greater stake. *** By day, my deeds are common-place But nights are mine to shape; My ship through interstellar space Drives on in wild escape. On Worlds 'neath cold Polaris' fire Harsh stones to Life aspire; Aldebaran sheds his Devil-glow Upon a madd'ning face That lesser men may never know, Who shun each horrid race That dwells on these for Worlds unknown, Whose joys I taste alone. By day, my deeds are common-place; Can vain dreams e'er atone? --D. B. Thompson
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