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Stories are our businessTM

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Shot Down at Night
by John Frederick Nims

A boy I once knew,
arms gold as saddle leather,
lakeblue eyes
found in foreign sky
extravagant death.

Dreamy in school,
parsed tragic Phaeton, heard
of war, arose surprised,
gravely shook hands
and left us.

His name, once grey
in convent writing, neat on themes,
cut like erosion of fire the peaks
of heaven.

The Arab saw strange flotsam fall;
the baseball-sounding spring,
the summer roadster
pennoned with bright hair,
the Halloween dance,
the skaters' kiss at midnight
on carillons of ice.